


Set It All On Fire

by Ropewithnoanchor



Series: Spaces [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Bottom Harry, Bottom Louis, Canon Compliant, Dom/sub, Edgeplay, Fluff and Smut, Handcuffs, M/M, Masturbation, Riding, Switching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 05:42:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4907599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ropewithnoanchor/pseuds/Ropewithnoanchor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Louis and Harry's world gets flipped upside down by an unexpected fake baby scandal, they rely on each other to make it right again.</p><p>[A relatively canon-compliant story of nights in hotels and bedrooms, starting in July 2015.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Probably Won’t Even End Up Being a Big Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. There's no way around babygate. So I'm writing it the way I have to tell myself it happened in order to sleep at night. I guess that sort of kills the whole "canon" vibe, but hey, creative liberties and all that.

**July 10, 2015 – Los Angeles, California  
//  _Louis_  //**

It’s supposed to be a happy day. It isn’t.

Louis fixes himself a cup of decaf tea and settles down on the couch to wait for Harry to come home. While the tea cools on the table, Louis turns on the television and snuggles under one of the throw blankets, pressing his face to it and inhaling. Their Los Angeles house still doesn’t quite feel like _home_ the way their London one does, since they don’t spend nearly enough time here, but the blanket smells like Harry and helps Louis calm down a bit.

It’s supposed to be a happy day, because it’s the five-year anniversary of Louis _X Factor_ audition _._ As happy as that memory may be, though, it’s also a lovely reminder that it’s been five years—half a _decade_ —of hiding his relationship with Harry. And to commemorate the occasion, or so it seems, life had dropped another bomb today.

How could his best friend have been so stupid? Louis’s fist reflexively clenches around the hem of the blanket, the soft fibers scrunched between his knuckles. Everything had gotten so fucked up so fast; he’s still not entirely sure how they even got from point A to point B. He’s pretty sure his biggest mistake was going to management for help, though. He should know better by now.

He can’t figure out how to tell Harry, is the thing. He wants to tell him before anyone else does, which means telling him tonight when he comes home, but it’s not going to be easy. Talking about the hard things doesn’t exactly come naturally to Louis.

Rubbing at his stomach a little to try and relieve the pressure from the growing knots of anxiety, Louis rolls over and grabs the TV remote. He doesn’t know any of the channels—he hardly knows how to work the remote—but he manages to find a station that’s playing _Bridesmaids_ which is exactly the kind of distraction he needs.

He must nod off, because suddenly Kristen Wiig is singing along to Wilson Phillips, and Harry is walking in their front door.

“Hi, doll,” Harry says as he kicks off his shoes, his golf bag slung over his shoulder. “Just going to throw this in the garage. You eat?”

Louis shakes his head, sitting up and rubbing his hair where it’s sticking straight up on the side of his head. He blindly reaches for his mug of cold tea, gulping down half of it. Now he feels groggy on top of nervous, which seems ten times worse.

Harry comes back in and drops down onto the sofa beside Louis, stretching out his long legs and socked feet over the coffee table. He gives Louis a little peck on the cheek. “You look sleepy,” he observes.

“You look…pink,” Louis mumbles back, pinching the hem of Harry’s bright pink golf polo.

“Nothing gets past you,” Harry teases, freeing his curls from the headband and elastic holding them back. “What’d you do today?”

“Um.” Louis clears his throat, drinking down the rest of his tea even though it tastes gross. “Played some FIFA. Talked to mum. Had a meeting on Skype.”

“Yeah?” Harry fishes his phone, keys, and wallet out of the pocket of his grey trousers, dropping them onto the coffee table. “What about?”

The knots in Louis’s stomach seem to tie even tighter, and like a nervous tic, his hand shoots out to tweak one of Harry’s nipples where it’s visible through his silly shirt.

“Hey!” Harry squawks, trying to catch his wrist with one hand while tickling his ribs with the other.

Louis shrieks at the surprise retaliation, bursting into giggles as Harry’s fingers mercilessly dance up and down his side. With a burst of energy, he wriggles into the couch cushions, knocking the throw blanket to the floor and still going after Harry’s nipples with his free hand. He can’t focus as his body jerks and more unbecoming noises come tumbling out of his mouth from Harry’s tickles.

Before he knows it, he’s lying lengthwise on the couch and Harry is straddling his waist, their hands tangled in a stalemate. He’s breathless, and he’s sure his face is bright red, but Harry leans down and kisses him anyway. Louis kisses him sweetly for a few minutes before nipping at his lower lip.

Harry bites him right back, pushing his hands down until they’re pinned to the cushions. Louis rolls his hips up, wondering if Harry can feel him through his trousers and Louis’s track pants.

“Babe,” Harry whispers, their swollen lips still passing hard kisses between them. “Can we put this on pause until after dinner?”

Louis snorts, bumping his knee into Harry’s back. “They didn’t feed you at that fancy golf club?”

“No,” Harry groans, grinding his hips down until Louis’s breath catches in his throat.

“Alright, alright, alright. Get off me if you’re not gonna get me off, then,” Louis says, his face immediately splitting into a grin at his own genius word play.

It’s Harry’s turn to snort as he slides off of Louis’s body. “Still have leftovers in the fridge,” he muses as he stands up. They had ordered a ridiculous amount of Chinese food last night after the San Diego concert and then fallen asleep before really eating any of it.

Louis traipses into the kitchen after Harry, climbing onto a stool at the island. Any energy he had found from their nipple-pinching-and-tummy-tickling fight has now faded and left him feeling drained again. He watches as Harry loads up a few plates with leftovers and pops them in the microwave, filling two glasses with ice water while the food heats up. He wordlessly puts one of the plates and one of the glasses in front of Louis before settling down into the stool next to him.

“Thanks,” Louis says around his first mouthful of rice.

They eat in relative silence for a while until Harry brings up the topic Louis wants so badly to avoid again. “So what did you say your meeting was about today?”

Louis puts his fork down as his stomach flip-flops, a piece of broccoli still speared on the end. He tries to swallow what he’s chewing, but it feels like it won’t go down his throat.

Gulping down water, he finally manages to stammer out an, “Um.”

Harry brow lifts, freezing with the fork halfway to his mouth as he watches to make sure Louis isn’t choking. “You alright?” he asks with genuine concern.

Louis hides his face in the crook of his elbow where it’s pressed against the cold marble countertop. He can’t delay telling Harry any longer, but… “I don’t know how to tell you,” he groans, voice muffled against his own skin.

Harry’s entire body stiffens, and Louis hears his fork clatter onto his plate. “What’s wrong?” he demands, voice deep and slow. “Louis, what happened?”

Louis chews on the inside of his cheek, desperately trying to pick the right words. “You remember those two girls who they set up to go clubbing with me and Oli? Who got papped with us? Back in May?”

“Uh, the blonde ones? Yeah, I guess I remember,” Harry says. There haven’t been a whole lot who made the press for being photographed with Louis the way those two did, so they stand out at least a little in Harry’s memory.

Louis can’t lift his head out of his arm, terrified of seeing Harry’s face and just losing it. “Um, Oli, you know… liked one of them.”

“Right,” Harry says.

“And he, you know… slept with her.”

“Right.”

“Well apparently he’s a bloody idiot because she’s pregnant now,” Louis blurts out. He turns his head just slightly, peeking up at Harry’s eyes to see his reaction. Harry’s just staring down at him, green eyes wide and clear, his brows pinched together a little in the middle.

“That…. sucks,” he manages, his voice raising a little at the end like it’s a question, like he doesn’t know where this is going.

There’s no way he could possibly guess where this is going.

Louis swallows, lifting his head off his arm finally. He rubs the pad of his thumb over the edge of the counter, feeling the smooth stone. “So, she’s pregnant,” he repeats. Harry doesn’t say anything, and Louis admires his patience. “And he was really freaked out, didn’t know what to do, and she didn’t either, so I, ah, I…”

Harry’s hand reaches out, covering Louis’s where he’s rubbing the countertop like he’s trying to violently scrub away a stain. “It’s okay, babe,” he says.

“It’s _not_ ,” Louis wails, loud suddenly, feeling heat rise in his cheeks and the corners of his eyes prickle. Harry jumps a little at his outburst. “I-I think I really fucked up.”

“We’ll fix it,” Harry says instantly, always so sure that together they can face anything. How can Louis disappoint him like this?

Louis tries to take a deep breath, but it catches in his throat like a hiccup. “I called Amy, you know, at management, because I figured she’d know what to do to, like, make sure this girl couldn’t ruin Oli’s life or anything. I mean, she’s a nice girl, but we don’t _really_ know her, so…”

Harry nods his head, his eyes unblinking.

“And… I don’t know, somehow word got around the office, and this idea came up, and I’m not even really sure how it happened? I’m really not, but they’re going to… They’re going to pretend… The baby…” He can’t look in Harry’s eyes anymore as the final words come out in a hardly audible mumble. “S’mine.”

Harry swallows; Louis can see his throat move. “The baby… what?”

“Please don’t make me say it again,” Louis begs, blinking away hot tears.

Harry’s hand tightens where it’s covering Louis’s, squeezing until it’s almost painful. The both fall temporarily silent, and Louis can practically hear the gears turning in Harry’s head as he tries to compute this new information. “I don’t understand,” he says finally.

“I don’t really either,” Louis admits. “I guess they saw an opportunity and—and they took it.”

“They’re going to say the baby is yours,” Harry echoes, his voice a little flat.

“Yes. They said Americans love a good baby scandal,” Louis tries to explain, using the exact words they’d said to him on the phone. “They said that’s it been too quiet since Zayn left, and ticket sales in the States are still down, and…”

“Everyone will think you’re straight,” Harry says, voice even flatter. Deader.

“Please,” Louis moans, turning his hand over so he can thread their fingers together. He can feel how hard his heart is beating against his ribs, his panic rising at Harry’s reaction. “I didn’t know what to do! I _don’t_ know what to do.”

“What about the girl?” Harry asks, tugging at his own hair with his free hand. “What does she think about all this?”

“She has no money, Harry,” Louis desperately tries to explain. “She’s from a poor family, she hasn’t found a job since graduating uni, they’re willing to pay her a lot to go along with this…”

Harry makes a tiny strangled sound, his eyes widening. “You—you feel bad for her,” he says, not bothering to keep the accusation out of his voice.

“Of course I do!” Louis exclaims. “We got a ridiculous break in life. Everyone deserves something like that.”

“Jesus, Louis.” Harry shakes his head. He looks like he can’t figure out if he wants to throttle or hug him. “This… This is…. I’m sorry, I just… It’s going to take me a little bit.”

Louis sighs. “I haven’t totally wrapped my head around it either,” he says. “And I don’t really know what’s going to happen. But I-I _need_ you.”

Harry shakes his head, grabbing Louis’s other hand and holding both of his little fists between his two big palms. “I’m not going anywhere,” he assures him. “But I just don’t understand. A _baby_ scandal?”

Louis can’t blame Harry for feeling blindsided; he feels exactly the same way. “You can start calling me daddy now,” he teases a bit shyly, glancing up at Harry from under his eyelashes.

“Oh, gross, Lou!” Harry shakes his head, but his dimples pop just a bit as he tries to hide his smile.

Louis frees his hands from Harry’s grip and slides them around the boy’s waist instead, leaning forward on his stool so he can rest his face against Harry’s chest. The smooth material of the pink golf polo feels good against his warm cheek. “M’sorry,” he mumbles. “It probably won’t even end up being a big thing,” he says, although deep down he doesn’t believe that. Celebrity _babies_ are never not big things. He just hopes maybe all the Americans who only know Harry by name won’t even care that the one in the band with the cheekbones is having a kid with some nobody.

“Not your fault,” Harry says firmly, stroking down the back of his head and playing with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. It sends shivers racing down Louis’s spine. “I’ll maybe try and make some calls tomorrow, figure out what’s going on, what we can do.”

Louis nods, even though he knows it’s useless. Harry can call his high and mighty friends, like the Azoff family, but if Modest! and their PR team have already set this plan in motion then there’s nothing anyone can really do.

“Can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?” Harry teases, trying to lighten the mood. “I go play a round of golf, and you go have a baby.”

Louis groans, trying to bite at Harry’s nipple through his shirt. “Want to go take a shower?” he asks.

“Ow,” Harry says pointedly, sliding off his stool and taking Louis with him. They both straighten up but don’t let go of each other. “Sure.”

They leave their mostly untouched plates of food on the counter and head upstairs.

 

After the shower, Harry changes the sheets on the bed and Louis promptly collapses naked on them. It feels better than he can ever articulate to get into a bed that’s _theirs_ and not a hotel’s, and he nuzzles his face into a fluffy pillow and lets out an enormous sigh.

Harry had decorated this bedroom—the L.A. house is really _his_ , after all—and it’s all dark fabrics and moody colors. The walls are painted a deep eggplant, with black shelves and frames to display some of Harry’s art collection (Louis doesn’t allow family photos of any kind in the room where they fuck the most). The bedding is grey with a matching upholstered headboard, and a giant vintage chandelier hangs from the ceiling. Louis runs his toes over the faux fur blanket that Harry had artfully tossed over the foot of the bed.

Harry turns off the chandelier, but the crystals keep shining in the moonlight filtering through the window. Louis feels a little pang of homesickness, yearning for a dark, cloudy night back in England.

Naked as well, Harry joins Louis in the bed, immediately crowding onto his side.

“I wish it would rain here sometimes,” Louis whispers, pulling Harry even closer to him. “I miss falling asleep to it, y’know?”

“ _It never rains in southern California_ ,” Harry sings softly. Louis kisses his damp curls.

They’re quiet for a little while, but Louis can’t stop shifting around, the sound of his skin moving against the sheets startling loud in the silent bedroom. As his thoughts run rampant in his head, he feels like his anxiety is trying to claw its way up out of his stomach, the talons stuck in his throat. All day he had tried not to let himself think about what’s going happen, what the repercussions are going to be, but now it’s impossible. He presses his nose against the nape of Harry’s neck and tries to steady his breathing.

“You alright?” Harry asks, not for the first time that night.

Louis just shakes his head, unable to lie. Harry flips over so that instead of spooning, they’re lying face-to-face. “I fucked up,” he chokes out.

“No,” Harry says, running his hand soothingly up and down Louis’s tattooed bicep, swirling his fingers over the ink. “You didn’t get anybody pregnant. You didn’t ask for this. None of it’s your fault.”

“I just wanted to help Oli,” he says, feeling the desperate need to explain himself to Harry, to have Harry understand how he got into this situation. “And then I just wanted to help the girl.”

“What’s her name?” Harry asks suddenly.

“Oh, um, Briana.”

Harry nods a little and falls silent. They gaze at each other even though they can’t really see anything in the dark, and in a desperate attempt to feel better, Louis presses their stomachs together and hooks his leg over Harry’s hip.

Harry’s entire body immediately tenses, letting out a little grunt of what could be only be pain. Louis jumps backward, surprised, and he props himself up on an elbow. “What’s the matter?” he demands.

If the lights had been on, Louis would’ve seen Harry’s cheeks heat up in a deep flush. “Um, just got a little bruise there,” the younger boy admits, trying too hard to sound nonchalant. “Didn’t feel good when you, uh, touched it.”

Louis frowns. “A little bruise?”

“Yes.”

“From what?”

Harry’s cheeks get even hotter. “From when I y’know… fell. On stage. Last night.”

Louis’s immediately torn between laughter and sympathy, so he chuckles and coos at Harry, stroking down the side of his face blindly. “Aw, babe! I didn’t know you’d hurt yourself.”

“Didn’t really,” Harry says defensively, nuzzling Louis’s palm. “Just bruised my hip a bit.”

“You want me to kiss it better?” Louis asks, not bothering to be coy. He’s desperate for a distraction from his own thoughts anyway. “And maybe I’ll kiss a few other places while I’m down there.”

Harry grins, his white teeth shining in the dark. “Could help,” he says after careful consideration.

Louis returns his grin before sliding down the bed, easing Harry onto his back and settling in between his legs. He can’t see where any skin is discolored in the dark, so he just leans down and presses his lips to the place on Harry’s hip where he’d pressed his leg before. Harry makes a little noise, caught somewhere between pain and pleasure as Louis’s soft mouth gently traces over his sore spot.

“You poor thing,” Louis murmurs, kissing along the curve of his hipbone. “Fell so hard.” Harry smells so good here, the wiry hairs below his bellybutton tickling Louis’s nose as he buries his face in the skin. He can’t resist leaving a little love bite down low, where maybe someone will see if Harry’s shirt peeks up on stage tomorrow night.

Harry lets out a breathy whine on an exhale, his hands reaching out to thread through Louis’s hair. He’s getting hard just from having Louis in such close proximity, the throbbing pain on his hip quickly forgotten.

Once Louis deems he’s kissed Harry’s hip and lower stomach enough, he moves his mouth farther down to swipe his tongue over the head of Harry’s half-hard cock. Harry sucks in a sharp breath, fingers tightening on Louis’s scalp.

Louis moves his mouth down, but he skips over the rest of Harry’s cock, instead latching on to the sensitive skin on the crease of his thigh. He sucks gently, not wanting to add too many bruises if Harry’s already got a big one that’s hurting him, but he can’t resist marking him up just a little. Harry whimpers, tugging at Louis’s hair to try and get him where he wants him.

“Will this make you feel better?” Louis asks, his tone light and teasing as he runs his tongue firmly up Harry’s length.

Harry lets out a shaky breath and nods even though Louis can’t see him. Louis’s sure Harry knows he’s doing this more to distract himself and apologize for what happened today than to actually make Harry better, but what are blowjobs good for if not apologies?

“Fuck,” Harry murmurs when Louis’s lips finally wrap around his head, sucking him in. He can’t help but push down a little on Louis’s skull, trying to get deeper in his hot, wet mouth.

Louis pops off, lifting up only long enough to say, “Hands behind your head.”

Harry whines, but he’s not surprised. There are no bars to grab onto on the headboard (something Louis complains about frequently when they’re trying to tie each other up), so Harry laces his fingers behind his head and leans back on them to keep them there.

Smirking, Louis lowers his mouth back down. Harry’s fully hard now, and Louis digs his tongue into the slit to taste the salty slick there. The sensation makes Harry’s thighs quiver, his abs tensing as he groans.

While he starts to truly suck Harry off, Louis lifts his own lower half off the bed enough that he can get a hand on himself as well. Bringing them both pleasure sends him on some sort of a power trip, which is exactly the kind of distraction he needs right now, when he’s feeling so out of control in his own life. He bobs his head up and down Harry’s length at the same pace he strokes himself, hoping he can manage to get them to come at the same time.

Harry hips start moving just a little, rolling softly with Louis’s rhythm. Louis needs his other arm to steady himself, so he can’t pin Harry down, and honestly Harry’s just helping him not have to strain his neck so much. He can just keep his head still and let Harry thrust in and out while he sucks him.

With a full mouth, he can’t check in to ask Harry if he’s close, so he has to rely on five years of experience to tell him when Harry’s about to come. The younger boy starts digging his heels into the mattress, gasping brokenly as his hips loose their steady pace and Louis gags on him.

“Gonna…close…” Harry stammers, his fingers knotted up so tightly behind his head that the knuckles hurt.

Louis quickens the hand stroking himself off, feeling his balls tighten as Harry lets out a particularly loud sound. Louis starts coming, painting the sheets between Harry’s spread thighs and moaning around his cock, and soon after he feels Harry let out the first rope of come deep in his throat. He chokes it down, not for the first time thankful that Harry eats healthfully, swallowing and sucking until the other boy unlocks his fingers and pushes Louis’s face away.

“Thanks, babe,” Harry murmurs as Louis crawls back up the bed to collapse next to him, “But you came on the clean sheets.”

Louis scoffs, cuddling up to Harry’s side and kissing his cheek, debating on whether or not to go brush his teeth again. “Just put the top sheet over it,” he grumbles, eyes already drooping shut.

He can tell that Harry really wants to change the sheets again but doesn’t want to force Louis out of bed after he just blew him. Louis’s glad Harry doesn’t press the issue, feeling him slide the top sheet underneath their bodies and lifting his hips to help.

“Oh,” Harry whispers suddenly when Louis’s already half asleep. “Happy five year anniversary of your audition!”

Louis smiles without opening his eyes, feeling Harry’s lips peck him on the forehead. “Thanks,” he whispers back. “Luckiest day of my life. Lead me to you.”

Harry makes a pleased noise, nuzzling Louis’s neck. “Everything’s gonna be fine, Lou.”

Louis hums, really wishing he could believe that.


	2. You Have Me, I'm Right Here (Part 1/2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up deciding to split this chapter into two parts as I didn't want you having to wait any longer for it!

**July 13, 2015 - Los Angeles, California**  
**// _Harry_ //**

Harry parks his Range Rover in their garage, waits for the garage door to shut entirely just in case any photographers or fans followed him, and climbs out of the black SUV. He nearly trips over his golf clubs as he walks in the dark to the door, making a note to contact someone to change the garage door’s automatic bulb.

Letting himself into the house, he glances in the living room and kitchen to see if Louis’s there. “Lou? You home?” he calls out, tossing his phone, keys, and wallet on the counter.

The two of them had spent the day apart, as they often do now when they have time off. Despite their relationship (and regardless of the hidden nature of it) they run in different social circles and prefer to keep it that way. After Harry’s terrible bout with separation anxiety early that year, they had reached the agreement that as long as they came home and slept together at night, most days off need to be spent apart. Any day they have a concert or promotion to do—which is most days—they’re together nearly 24/7, so this encourages Harry to maintain his other friendships and keeps them both sane. And so far, it had helped his separation anxiety stay at bay.

Harry can’t remember if Louis’s car had been parked in the dark garage as well; maybe he’s not home yet after all. Jogging up the stairs, Harry checks to see if Louis’s in their bedroom before letting himself into the bathroom and turning on the shower. He sheds his outfit, sighing happily when he can peel the skintight jeans off after a long day of suffocating his junk, and he steps inside the giant glass enclosure once the room fills with steam.

The hot water from the multiple showerheads and side jets pounds against his skin like a massage, loosening his muscles and slowing his heart rate. He lets himself just stand there awhile, enjoying the sensation and having a few minutes to simply relax. After a whole day away from Louis, though, he does wish the other boy could be in here with him.

Once his hair is washed and conditioned, Harry pours a healthy amount of lavender vanilla body wash on a pouf and stars cleaning his body in slow, small circles. He takes the time to rub it into every inch of his skin, since without Louis there, naked and distracting, he can focus on himself a bit. He’s bending over to wash down his legs when he hears it for the first time.

_Smack_.

The sound jolts him, adrenaline bursting in his chest and making his fingers tingle. What the hell had that been? He spins in a circle in the center of the shower, trying to listen for it again. Just when he’d convinced himself he had imagined it, though, it happens.

Nerves bubbling in his stomach, Harry scrambles for the knobs on the wall to turn off the side jets. It makes the shower noticeably quieter, and then—

_Smack. Smack._

It’s like the sound is coming through the walls. Is someone trying to break in? Should he call the police? Rubbing a spot clean on the steamy shower glass, Harry glances around the bathroom and curses, realizing he’d left his phone downstairs in the kitchen with his wallet and keys.

It would be just his luck if an intruder breaks in and finds him like this. He can see the headline in _The_ _Sun_ now: “HARRY STYLES K **1D** NAPPED—SNATCHED NAKED FROM THE SHOWER.” He quickly rinses off the rest of the body wash and shuts off all the showerheads, wrapping himself in a towel.

From outside of the shower, it sounds like something is hitting the exterior of the house. Creeping across the bathroom, not wanting to make his presence known to his future kidnapper, Harry pulls the shades up on the window just an inch and peers out into their backyard.

In the underwater lights from the pool, he can make out the silhouette of someone standing on their patio. His stomach jumps up into his throat, and he curses himself for leaving his phone downstairs.

As he watches, the person moves forward. Harry can see the dark line of their leg swing back, make contact with something, and the loud _smack_ happens again, just beneath the window Harry’s stood at.

Relief floods through him as he realizes what he’s seeing. It’s just Louis, kicking a football against the back of their house.

It’s just Louis. Kicking a football against the back of their house.

All of his fear and anxiety is replaced with irritation. _Why_ is Louis in their backyard, kicking a football against the back of their house? When did he even get home? As Harry runs the towel over his skin and hair, he wonders if Louis has actually been in the backyard since before Harry got there.

Once he’s dry, Harry gets into a pair of blue checked boxer shorts and worn white t-shirt before heading downstairs, pulling his damp hair into a loose bun. Opening the slider that leads to the backyard, Harry flips on the patio lights as the warm air from outside immediately rushes in

Louis freezes where he’s standing, the football trapped under his sneaker. Now that the lights are on, Harry can see that Louis’s eyes are swollen red, his hairline darkened with sweat and his shirt stuck to his skin. He looks like a deer in headlights, motionless and staring blankly at Harry.

A rush of worry hits Harry so hard he feels sick with it, and he throws the slider closed behind him and walks across the patio. “Hey,” he says gently, trying to keep his rising panic out of his voice. “Hey, baby, what’s wrong?”

Louis just shakes his head, his tearstained face twisting into a grimace as he toes the football away. It bounces in front of Harry, who gently kicks it back with the inside of his bare foot. It stings a little against his skin, but he ignores it.

The silence stretches on as they pass the ball back and forth across the few feet of patio between them. Every time he gets the ball, Harry opens his mouth to ask Louis again what’s wrong, but every time he thinks better of it and tries to wait until Louis feels ready to speak. Louis stays silent though, despite the occasional sniffle, and they keep passing the ball until Harry’s bare feet are bright red.

Every kick starts to hurt, and Harry wants to stop, but he doesn’t know what will happen if he does. Louis looks like he’s just barely holding it together, focusing only on gently kicking the ball and nothing else. Harry’s afraid that if he stops their game—or tries to ask him another question—Louis will completely break down.

Eventually, Harry goes to kick the ball with a part of his foot that isn’t smarting too badly, but he makes poor contact and sends it skittering off to the side where it drops into the pool with a small splash. He glances sharply up at Louis, watching the other boy as he stares at the floating football. His lids are so swollen and his lashes so dark with tears that his eyes are nearly slits. The underwater lights in the pool make the visible slice of his blue irises glow gold as they fill with tears again.

“I’ll get it—” Harry starts to say, but Louis is suddenly striding past him, making a beeline for the house.

Surprised and utterly confused by this bizarre behavior, it takes Harry a second to kick his legs into gear and follow after him. Apparently a second had been too long, though, because once Harry walks through the slider Louis had left open, the boy is nowhere in sight.

“Louis! Lou?” Harry calls out, shivering in the air conditioning. He can feel his nipples peaking under the thin white t-shirt. “Where did you go? What the fuck is going on?”

He cringes a little at his choice of words, but he’s irritated, and the tops of his feet still sting from their strange game of silent backyard pass. Louis isn’t in the kitchen or the dining room, and Harry feels a little stupid searching for his grown adult boyfriend as he glances in the powder room.

“Louis! Jesus Christ, where are you?”

Ears catching the electronic chirping sound of a television turning on, Harry whips around, trying to figure out where it had come from. Stalking across the house, cursing its giant size as his annoyance grows, he peers down the hall and sees one of their living rooms lit up with flashes of color from undoubtedly the TV screen.

Following the light and sound, Harry finds Louis sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of a Playstation where it’s lying sideways on the rug with wires running to the television. He’s trying to get a game disc out of its case but is shaking too badly to open it.

He seems so frustrated, teeth sunk into his lower lip, swollen eyes narrowed, but he can’t quite get his nails in the grooves properly. Harry feels a tiny bit of pity for him, because despite how irritated he is, Harry’s mostly just confused.

“Angel,” he says quietly over the hum of the TV, like he’s speaking to a toddler on the edge of a tantrum. “ _What_ is going on?”

“Can’t get this fucking thing open,” Louis says, his voice startlingly hoarse from crying. “Just-just wanted to play FIFA…”

“Okay,” Harry murmurs, dropping down onto the floor beside Louis and gently taking the game from his shaking hands. “How about you talk to me instead?”

“ _No_ ,” Louis snaps, reaching out and grabbing the game back. He almost cracks the case in the process, but he manages to pry it open this time. The disc comes popping out, bouncing on the rug, and Louis snatches it up and jams it into the Playstation.

Harry just stares, stunned at his behavior. As if the whole football incident hadn’t been weird enough, now Louis had regressed into a Lux-level fit. Harry can’t remember the last time he’s seen Louis act like this.

But suddenly, he remembers what he usually has to do to get Louis to snap out of these kinds of tantrums. And he can’t believe he hadn’t figured it out sooner.

It’s going to be hard to dominate Louis when he looks so young and so upset, face still puffy from crying, but Harry knows that this will be what’s best for him—at least, he thinks he knows. He’s going to have to trust his gut on this one, but usually when Louis gets to this level, there’s only one way to bring him back down.

“Louis,” Harry starts, changing his tone into something much firmer, darker. Louis notices it immediately, body stiffening and eyes flicking away from the television screen momentarily. “Put the controller down. Turn off the TV. We’re going upstairs. Now.”

For a moment, Louis looks like he’s going to fight. His thumb hovers over the buttons on the controller, hands still trembling, his toes curling in their socks beneath him. Harry takes a breath, ready to repeat his order, but then Louis tosses the controller onto the ground with a thud and punches the power button on the game console.

“Come on, babe,” Harry murmurs as Louis struggles to his feet, wrapping an arm around his waist and slowly leading him out of the room. The TV is still glowing behind them, but Harry ignores it.

Louis’s shirt is damp from kicking the football for who knows how long, and Harry can smell the sweat mixed with his spicy deodorant as they ascend the staircase together. Louis’s heartbeat flutters like a bird’s underneath his skin, his every move a little bit too stiff. Harry guides him down the hall and into their bedroom, and they both crawl into bed and sit on top of the duvet.

Harry wraps the faux fur throw blanket from the foot of the bed around Louis’s shoulders, since he’s started shivering in the air conditioning now. Rubbing the boy’s upper arms over the blanket, Harry presses his lips to the back of Louis’s neck where his hairline is still stiff with dried sweat.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Harry says, as calmly and firmly as he can possibly manage. He doesn’t ask this time, though; he demands it.

Louis opens his mouth and takes a deep, audible breath. Harry can practically hear all the fluid built up in the back of his throat from crying. “Tomorrow,” Louis manages to say.

Harry gives him a few minutes to continue, but when no further explanation comes, he has to press. “What’s tomorrow, Lou?”

Louis bites his lip and shakes his head like the answer is too painful for him to even say. Harry rubs his back now, pressing soothing circles in between his shoulder blades with his palm.

“Is it…is it about the baby story?”

Louis’s muscles tighten underneath Harry’s hand, and he whips his head around in surprise. “How did you know?” he asks, his voice thick and strangely low.

“Why else would you be so upset?” Harry counters softly, kissing the single tear that’s streaking down Louis’s cheek.

“It’s happening so fast,” Louis whispers, blinking quickly to try to hold in any more tears. They haven't talked much about the situation since Louis had first told him about it, and now Harry wishes they had. “I-I don’t even understand. Something about _People_ magazine. They’re not—they’re not telling me enough, I—”

Harry shushes him gently when his words get more and more panicky as they spill out. He digs his thumbs into Louis’s shoulders, pressing into the tense muscles to get them to relax. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” he repeats, scared that talking about it will send Louis into a full-blown panic attack. “You’re here with me, love, everything’s okay, shh.”

Louis swallows around a whimper, another tear following the track down his cheek. He turns his head and hides his face in the neck of Harry’s t-shirt. “Don’t feel good,” he mumbles, and Harry notices Louis’s pressing the heel of his hand into his own lower stomach. The situation is literally making the boy sick, and Harry’s heart splinters.

“Do you want to try the shower?” Harry offers quietly, trying to remember the last time Louis had gotten this bad. It’s been a long time. “Take your medicine, maybe?”

Louis hesitates but then shakes his head, shuddering in Harry’s hold. “I need…” He swallows, throat bobbing. “Just…need you?”

Harry frowns, not understanding. “You have me, I’m right here.”

Louis shakes his head again, cheek rubbing against Harry’s collarbone. Whatever he’s trying to ask for, it’s clearly hard for him to ask for it.

“What?” Harry asks, hugging the boy closer to him. “What do you need? Anything, I’ll get it for you.”

“Need you to make it go away,” Louis says, his voice barely audible as he tucks his head even tighter under Harry’s chin, “In—in my head.”

Harry’s breath catches, and his hand freezes where it's been rubbing Louis’s arm again, so surprised to hear Louis articulate it. “Is that…is that what you want?” he asks. He has to be sure.

Louis doesn’t hesitate before nodding. “Need it,” he chokes out, pressing against his lower stomach again. “Need you.”

Harry’s brain goes into overdrive, adrenaline coursing through his veins much stronger than it had in the shower when he’d thought there’d been an intruder in the house. He thinks of the first time Louis had asked for this, so long ago at their house in London the night Louis had sliced his hand open on the broken iPhone screen. He flips Louis’s hand over now, checking for the scar. He thinks of when he had given Louis the reins back when Harry had been suffering from separation anxiety on tour, needing the older boy to reassure him that he was there for him and to make all the bad thoughts vanish, replaced with only the basest physical feelings. And now, he’s quite certain Louis is asking him to flip the tables again, to take away this out-of-control feeling by taking away all of his control. If there’s anything Harry understands fully, it’s that.

“Okay, okay, shh,” he says. “I’ll give it to you, baby, I’ll help you.”


	3. You Have Me, I'm Right Here (Part 2/2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that I'm posting the updates to this story so much slower than usual. I've got excuses, but who cares, here's a new chapter!
> 
> There's a part in this that might be a little... questionable, but I hope I made it clear that the act came from a place of love and concern with no malicious intent.

**July 13, 2015 – Los Angeles, California  
// Harry ctd. //**

  _“Okay, okay, shh,” he says. “I’ll give it to you, baby, I’ll help you.”_

The second Harry says the words, it’s like he lit a fire inside Louis. The older boy jumps up on his knees on the bed, balancing his hands on Harry’s shoulders and slamming their mouths together to kiss him hungrily. Stunned, Harry takes a few seconds to react, just sitting there slack-jawed while Louis pries his lips open with his tongue.

It doesn’t feel right. Louis’s hands are gripping his shoulders too tightly, his mouth tastes salty with tears, and he’s panting through his nose like they’ve been going at it for hours. Harry jerks his head back, trying to hold Louis in place when he lunges forward to keep their mouths connected.

“Louis,” Harry gasps as Louis’s weight tips him backward onto the pillows. “Louis—wait…”

But Louis doesn’t wait. He shimmies up Harry’s body so he’s straddling his waist, knees in Harry’s armpits, and then he bends himself in half so he can kiss him more. It must hurt his back, Harry thinks, but with the boy’s full weight on his ribcage, he can’t sit up to take the upper hand back.

Louis’s kissing him so aggressively, so sloppily that Harry feels like there’s not enough room in his mouth for his own tongue. Struggling to get his wits about him, he blindly runs his hand up Louis’s body, feeling his way along his curved spine and up the back of his neck until he finds his head. Then he takes a fistful of the boy’s soft hair and yanks his head to the side.

Louis cries in pain right into Harry’s mouth before he’s ripped away, a string of spit stretching and snapping between their lips. His hands shoot up to cover Harry’s where it’s gripping his hair, leaving him off balance and tumbling in the direction Harry’s pulling. He lands on the mattress beside him, eyes screwed shut from his burning scalp.

“Ow, ow, let go!” Louis pleads, and Harry does, but only once he’s climbed on top of Louis’s hips. When Harry’s settled, they both just stare at each other in the low light from the dimmed chandelier, chests heaving.

Harry wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, bewildered. Where had _that_ come from? One second Louis’s shaking and crying in his lap, the next he’s attacking him mouth-first. Near panic attacks aren’t exactly Harry’s idea of foreplay, and he’s not sure when they became Louis’s.

“Fuck,” he breathes as his heart rate slows, watching Louis beneath him. Even though the boy’s eyes are puffy and bloodshot, they’re still sharp and bright, framed by damp eyelashes as he rubs the stinging spot on his scalp.

From the way he’s sitting, Harry can tell Louis’s not hard, and he himself certainly isn’t either. It’s a bit of a relief to know that whatever the hell just happened hadn’t turned Louis on, although Harry can’t articulate exactly why. His head spins as he stares down at where the highest peaks of Louis’s cheekbones are flushed pink. Had that show of aggression been some sort of physical way to ask Harry to take control—to _make_ him take control?

“Harry, c’mon,” Louis murmurs, jerking his hips a little where they’re pinned under Harry’s weight. Well, that answers that then.

“I-I don’t know what to do,” Harry confesses, the words coming out before he can stop them. “What do you want me to do?”

“You’re not supposed to _ask_ me!” Louis whines, his face pained as his pounds his fists once on the mattress.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Harry says quickly, scared Louis will start crying again. He doesn’t know how to express how wrong this all feels to him, though. Not so much the dominating part, but the anything sexual part right after Louis’s near meltdown.

“Just fuck me then,” Louis says, sliding his hands enticingly up Harry’s bare thighs, stopping at the hem of his blue boxer shorts.

Harry immediately shakes his head. “M’not,” he whispers.

“You’re just like Zayn,” Louis spits, scowling without making eye contact. “All talk and no action.”

“Hey.” Harry frowns, reaching down to grab Louis’s chin and tilt his head back, but Louis still avoids his gaze. “What’s that about?”

“Didn’t you check Twitter today?” Louis asks in the same snippy, condescending tone, jerking his chin out of Harry’s hold.

Harry shakes his head. He doesn’t use Twitter as much as the other guys, preferring to let their social media team handle that. “No, what happened?”

“Apparently he tweeted at that Shahid sack of shit and made it look like they’re not friends anymore. But I don’t believe he’s leaving that dickhead’s side for a second.”

Feeling awkward sitting on top of Louis now, Harry silently slides off, settling down beside him and pulling his knees to his chest.

“Why don’t you text him and ask?” Harry suggests gently after a minute. “If he _isn’t_ friends with that… guy anymore, he probably needs someone.”

Louis’s scowl deepens. “Right,” he says. “He didn’t need me when he left us, now, did he?”

Harry can’t remember how many times in the past four months he’s tried to explain to Louis that Zayn left One Direction and not _him_ , but Louis’s still too hurt to understand the difference.

Changing the subject, even though it’s equally as unpleasant a subject, Harry drops his chin onto the tops of his bare knees and asks slowly, “So what did they tell you is happening tomorrow?”

Louis sighs, rolling over onto his side away to face the other direction. It feels like a punch in the gut to Harry. “ _People_ magazine’s gonna break the story,” Louis mutters.

“In print or online?”

“I don’t fucking know!” Louis cries, the change in volume making Harry jump.

“Can we not fight?” Harry snaps. Louis’s gone from crying to trying to eat Harry’s face to yelling at him; Harry can’t fucking keep up. “I’m trying to _help_ you.”

“Well I don’t want to talk about it!” Louis shoots back. He sits up, legs dangling off the bed, back turned to Harry. Before he can stand up, though, Harry lunges forward, wrapping his arms around Louis from behind and hugging him as tightly as he can.

“Please,” Harry whispers in his ear, feeling how tense Louis is but noting that the boy doesn’t try to pull away. “I’m sorry I can’t…can’t be what you need right now.”

“You _can_ ,” Louis begs, his voice suddenly strained and broken.

“I can’t fuck you when you’re upset,” Harry says, changing tactics.

Louis makes an angry noise and breaks free of Harry’s arms, standing up. Desperate not to let Louis walk out of their room, unwilling to play another game of hide-and-seek in their giant house, Harry scrambles to reach out and grab the back of his shirt. As he extends his arm out, though, a sudden shooting pain in his lower back takes his breath away, radiating up his spine and down his legs.

Harry must make a sound, because Louis whirls around with wide eyes. Harry grips the edge of the bed, his arms locked tight as he tries to support all his weight and keep his back isolated, sharp pain continuing to spark at the base of his spine. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasps, arms trembling.

“Easy, shit,” Louis murmurs, trying to calm him down but clearly scared to touch him. “Your back? What happened?”

“Must’ve just… moved wrong,” Harry says through gritted teeth. He’s usually so careful with his lower back, and he knows better than to reach and extend like that, but any thoughts of self-preservation tend to go out the window when he’s worried about Louis.

He can feel his back muscles agonizingly spasm, clenching too tight to protect his spine. The pain is extreme, but it’s already not as bad as it had been at first, and Harry’s pretty sure he hasn’t thrown it out entirely in the way that leaves him immobilized for days. He needs to lie down somehow, though, but he’s too nervous to move.

“What do you need?” Louis asks, dropping into a squat beside the bed so Harry can look at him without lifting his head from where he’s frozen atop the mattress on his hands and knees. “What can I do?”

Harry’s eyes are clenched shut, but when he hears Louis’s voice so close by, he forces them open a crack. Louis looks so concerned, and Harry feels bad for being the one to put that look on his face.

“Um,” Harry starts, not wanting to ask for help but knowing he has to. “I’ve got to lie down. Just—scared to move.”

“Okay.” Louis stands up again, coming as close to the bed as possible without touching Harry. “Do you think you can hold my arm and lower yourself down?”

Harry’s eyes flick up without moving his head, looking at Louis where he’s holding his arm locked in front of his stomach. If Harry grabs onto it, he might be able to isolate his back enough to lie down without using the spasming muscles too much.

“Can you hold my weight?” Harry asks, voice still strained with pain.

Louis gives him a look. “Yes. Just take your time, okay? No rush. I’ll hold you up.”

Harry’s nervous, but he can’t stay on his hands and knees all night. Very slowly, he lifts one of his arms up without moving any other part of his body and grabs onto Louis’s forearm, feeling the boy immediately tense up to support him. With even that small movement, the tightness in his lower back twinges again, and he knows fully lying down is going to hurt a lot.

He opens his mouth to warn Louis that he’s going to go for it now, but he doesn’t have to; he can physically feel that Louis is ready to help him. Setting his jaw and closing his eyes, Harry grips Louis’s arm and carefully transfers his weight, hanging off the boy’s limb.

The pain knocks the breath from his lungs, but it’s not nearly as bad as it would’ve been if he’d done this without Louis. He eases himself down onto his side only using his arms, moving his back and legs as little as possible, and Louis helps him without a single complaint even as Harry’s hands twist his skin. Harry’s shaking and sweating with pain and exertion when it’s over, but he’s finally lying down on the bed; it feels a million times better not to be supporting his own weight anymore.

“Lift up just a tiny bit, c’mon,” Louis coaxes, and Harry opens his eyes to see the boy holding a pillow down by his legs. It hurts, but Harry manages to lift his top leg just enough for Louis to slide the pillow between his knees. It helps open his hips a bit to relieve some of the pain, and Harry sighs.

“Thank you,” Harry murmurs, feeling suddenly exhausted.

“Do you want ice or heat?” Louis asks.

“Um, ice please,” Harry answers, trying not to sound surprised at Louis taking charge of his care like this. His eyelashes flutter as he forces his lids open, searching for Louis’s face. “And some ibuprofen?”

Louis bends down and kisses his temple softly. “I’ll be right back. Yell if you need me.”

When Louis leaves, Harry sighs. Talk about being emotionally _and_ physically drained; what a fucking roller coaster of a night. At least hurting his back had managed to distract Louis from fighting with him, although he wishes it could’ve happened with a little less of the agonizing pain part. He remembers when Louis had taken care of him in Australia after the ARIAs last year when he’d had an ear infection—before one their biggest fights ever, but that bit’s not worth remembering. Maybe there’s something to be said about the fact that caring for Harry seems to bring out the best in Louis. Harry files that away for later, since he’s pretty sure that once he’s able to walk again, he and Louis are going to have to revisit what Louis had asked of him tonight.

Louis comes back into the bedroom with a soft ice pack, a dishtowel, a bottle of water, and a handful of pills. Setting the pills and water on the bedside table, he walks around the bed to the side Harry’s facing away from and wraps the ice pack in the dishtowel before tucking it in the waistband of Harry’s boxers against his spine. Harry hisses at the cold, but it does feel good. The temperature will help dull the pain, and then a hot pack later will help relax the spasms.

Walking back in front of Harry, Louis scoops up the pills and holds them in front of Harry’s mouth. It’s awkward with Harry lying sideways, but with Louis’s help he manages to swallow them down with only a little water spilled on the mattress. The two pills feel like two different shapes on his tongue, but Harry’s in too much pain to give it any real thought.

There’s a moment of awkward silence. “Do you want me to get your laptop? Put on a movie?” Louis finally asks.

“Just sit with me?” Harry says softly, peering up at him. Louis bites his lip but finally nods, slipping off his track pants and still-sweaty shirt before climbing very carefully into bed with Harry so as not to jostle him.

“M’sorry, Haz,” Louis mumbles after pulling the duvet over his legs and most of Harry’s body. He reaches over and cards his fingers through Harry’s hair at the roots, grazing his scalp with his nails; it makes Harry sigh pleasurably.

“Not your fault. I’m sure I’ll be okay by tomorrow,” Harry says, hoping if he believes that enough it’ll come true. Their next show is the day after tomorrow in Seattle, and Harry really doesn’t want to have to tell their team he can’t get out of bed and end up smothered by doctors and needles and pills to get him standing again. Taking a few ibuprofens and using an ice pack probably isn’t enough, but he tries to stay away from the stronger drugs as much as he can, even if it’s just because of his own stupid pride.

He gazes up at Louis as the older boy continues mindlessly playing with his hair. Louis’s face is pale and a little bit too shiny, and the hand that isn’t in Harry’s hair is repeatedly twisting and untwisting the sheets. He looks twitchy and guilty, which makes _Harry_ feel guilty.

“Lou, I’ll be fine,” he says, speaking a little louder. He feels shitty for not being able to help Louis with anxiety; maybe he just should’ve fucked him when he had asked. At least then he might’ve been immobilized on their bed right now from a great orgasm rather than excruciating pain. “We’ll handle tomorrow when it comes, okay?”

He’s referring to both his back and the baby story situation, but his words, which are supposed to calm Louis down, instead cause Louis’s expression to darken. Exhaustion is hitting Harry in waves, but he struggles to stay awake, unwilling to fall asleep when Louis is so distraught.

Maybe he can still give Louis what he needs, even if he can’t move. He clears his throat as the idea starts to formulate in his head, willing his voice to sound strong and steady now. “Louis, get the lube from the drawer.”

Louis’s eyes flick over to him, looking incredulous. “Harry—”

“Now,” Harry demands. It’s hard to seem authoritative when he’s immobilized underneath a fluffy duvet, but his voice seems to have the desired effect when Louis reaches over and drags open the heavy wooden drawer in their antique bedside table.

“Take your pants off,” Harry says, watching as Louis hesitates just a second before shimmying out of his black briefs and tossing them on the floor alongside his t-shirt and trackies.

“Get yourself hard.”

Louis swallows, his throat visibly bobbing. He reaches for the bottle of lube, only wrapping his fingers around the bottle once Harry gives him a tiny nod of approval. Coating his right hand in the liquid, the sweet strawberry scent filling their bedroom, Louis starts coaxing his soft cock into its full size.

“Good, good,” Harry murmurs, watching Louis touch himself. His own cock is filling out beneath the duvet, but he can’t move to do anything about it, so all he can focus on is Louis. “Now get on your hands and knees.”

Louis rolls his eyes, needing to show just that little bit of defiance before flipping over on the mattress, even though he’s still careful not to jostle Harry too much. His hand smears lubricant on the sheets not too far from where Harry’s face is laying.

“You wanted to get fucked so badly tonight,” Harry says, his tone lightly mocking. Louis’s cheeks immediately heat up, and he stares down at the spot on the mattress between his hands. “So now you’re going to fuck yourself, because that’s the best you’re going to get.”

He can hear Louis’s quick intake of breath, since they’re so close to each other on top of the bed. He wants to reach out and touch him, but he’s still too scared to move much and bring back the pain. No, he just has to lie here and command Louis, in the same way Louis’s done to him over the phone and on Skype. He can do it.

“Pick a vibrator from the drawer,” Harry says.

Louis’s teeth clamp down on his lower lip, but he doesn’t speak, silently reaching to pull back open the drawer where the lube came from. He selects blindly, just grabbing the first toy his fingers come into contact with and dropping it onto the mattress. Harry sees it’s the baby pink one Louis had bought him for Valentine’s Day a few years ago, with a red heart-shaped button on the base. It’s a pretty standard size, not too big and not too small. Louis got lucky.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Lube it up and put it inside you.”

Louis’s eyes glance over at him, a flash of blue in the light from the dimmed chandelier. But he picks back up the bottle of lubricant and soaks the toy in it before moving to flip over onto his back.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Harry chastises, causing Louis to freeze. “Not like that. Stay on your knees.”

Rolling his eyes again, Louis starts trying to settle into a comfortable position, dropping his weight down from his hands onto his shoulders so he can reach around behind himself, face pressed into a pillow. He positions the vibrator at his untouched hole, rubbing the tip over it to spread some of the lube around.

“Harry,” he whines when he tries to push it in and is met with too much resistance.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Harry asks, keeping that same patronizing, teasing tone in his voice.

“Can’t get it in,” Louis grits out.

“Why not?”

“Need…” Louis starts, but he can’t get himself to ask for it, his cheeks heating up even more.

“What do you need, angel?” Harry coos, giving Louis a pitying look that he returns with a fierce scowl.

“Need… Need fingers…”

“What was that?”

“ _Fingers_ ,” Louis finally cries out. “Need fingers first.”

“Well, how do you ask for it?”

Harry thinks Louis might reach over and strangle him, wondering if he’s pushing him too far too fast, but Louis just screws up his face and asks quietly, “Can I please finger myself?” Harry almost swallows his own tongue.

“Yes, open yourself up so you can take that big toy,” Harry says after taking a second to make sure his voice comes out steady. “Not as big as me though, right? Not as good?”

Louis shakes his head where it’s sunken into the pillow. “Not as good,” he agrees, transferring the vibrator to his clean hand and holding onto it while using his slick hand to rub the lubricant in circles over his hole. “Fuck…”

“Go on then, finger yourself,” Harry says, trying to sound bored when in reality he’s cursing himself for having Louis kneel in such a way that Harry can’t really see his entrance. The harder he tries to look, though, the more he feels like he’s going cross-eyed, suddenly having a hard time focusing his gaze. He blames it on the pain.

Louis pushes his index finger inside himself, gasping at the tight fit. He moves it around slowly, adjusting to the feeling as he works it in and out. When it finally feels comfortable Louis lifts his head a little from the pillow so that Harry can hear him. “Can I use another one?”

Harry’s shocked to hear him ask, but he tries not to let it show on his face. “Yes,” he manages to blurt out.

Louis’s mouth is a hard line of determination as he presses his middle finger up next to his index and carefully slides them both past his rim. Harry can hear him gasp at the stretch of it, breath muffled into the pillowcase, and Harry’s cock gives a desperate twitch where it’s filled out against the mattress. He wants those to be _his_ fingers inside Louis, but for now, this is the best he can do.

“Harder,” he orders, watching Louis’s wrist move as he fucks himself slowly with his fingers. Louis’s pace immediately increases, his breathing picking up.

“Another?” Louis asks, voice growing weaker.

Harry almost doesn’t hear him, feeling himself being suddenly nearly pulled under into sleep. He’s fighting a losing battle against his own exhaustion apparently, even though usually having Louis beside him face-down-ass-up with two fingers inside himself would be enough to keep him plenty awake.

Louis whines when Harry doesn’t immediately answer, plunging his fingers as deep as they can go and scissoring them apart. “Please—another?” he tries again.

“Yes, yes, another,” Harry says quickly, feeling a little panicky at the strange sensation of being unable to stay awake. The ice pack against his back has made the skin go numb, and he wishes Louis could remove it for him.

He can’t see Louis add another finger, but he can hear the whimper the sensation pulls out of him. He lets Louis fuck himself on three fingers for a few minutes while he tries to properly focus his vision, the room spinning and warping before his eyes. It’s been a long day, sure, and an even longer night, but he still feels _too_ tired all of a sudden.

“M’ready,” Louis says, and it sounds weirdly like he’s speaking to him from across a football field, like there’s cotton in Harry’s ears.

“Okay,” Harry says, his voice devoid of any strength he’d managed to feign before. Thankfully Louis’s too far-gone to notice. “Use the… the vibrator now.”

Louis withdraws his fingers and scrambles to pick up the slippery vibrator from where he must’ve dropped it onto the sheets. Hair stuck to his cheek with sweat, eyes hooded and desperate, Louis reaches around behind himself and lines the baby pink toy up at his hole. Harry’s already given him permission, but apparently Louis wants more. “Harry,” he begs.

Harry’s eyes are barely open now, eyelashes fluttering as he fights the drowning sensation of falling asleep against his will. “Turn it on. Go,” he chokes out.

His chest feels suffocatingly heavy as he tries to watch Louis fuck himself with the Valentine’s Day gift. The pain in his back seems oddly distant now, like he can still feel it but the pain doesn’t register as unpleasant. He wonders why Louis doesn’t seem to care that Harry’s barely giving him orders anymore, but he figures it probably has to do with the toy vibrating against his prostate.

“Can I—can I touch,” Louis gasps, working the toy in and out of his hole as fast as he can. “Can I touch myself, p-please?”

“Mmm,” Harry manages to say, dipping into sleep and coming back up again. A wave of panic hits him. What is _happening_?

He has no idea how much time passes, because one second Louis is asking to touch himself, and the next he’s splattering the sheets with come. The older boy collapses down next to Harry, hitting the mattress hard enough to make Harry bounce a bit, but this time Harry feels no pain.

“Louis,” he whimpers, finally letting himself reach over to him.

“Shh, Haz,” Louis whispers, and he seems to disappear and reappear behind Harry. Harry knows he should feel scared, and he _does_ feel that prickle of anxiety trying to grow in his stomach, but a strange calm is also washing over him at the same time. He whimpers again because he can’t see Louis, but he feels his warmth behind him.

“You’re okay, love,” Louis murmurs, sliding the ice pack out from under Harry’s waistband.

“I’m not,” Harry insists, his voice soft and barely there.

“It’s just the medicine,” Louis explains. “You’re fine.”

“Medicine?” Harry asks, fighting the stronger than ever urge to sleep to ask one more question. “Ibuprofen…?”

Louis pauses a second. “I gave you what you needed,” he finally says.

Harry has no idea what that means, but it doesn’t matter; he can’t stay awake another second.

 

**// Louis //**

Louis doesn’t feel guilty about what he did, but he does feel a little guilty at the confused look on Harry’s face that won’t go away even in sleep. Harry usually refuses to take anything more than ibuprofen for his back until it’s too late, and then the doctors have to shoot him up with medicine that makes him throw up and send him on stage in a stupor. If Louis can help him avoid that by slipping him a muscle relaxer and a painkiller now, when they can actually help, then, well, it’s worth it.

He hadn’t expected Harry to try and take on his dominant persona while immobilized in bed, however. Sure, Louis had still managed to succumb to the boy’s commanding tone and get a great orgasm out of it, but watching Harry try and fight the medicines’ effects and keep up his act hadn’t been the easiest.

Louis pulls back on his briefs and shuts off the chandelier. Scared to sleep next to Harry and risk accidentally moving him in his sleep and causing him more pain, he gets out the spare duvet from the closet and lies down on the black tufted velvet couch under the window in their bedroom. The material feels weird against his bare skin, so he cocoons in the blanket.

He’s thankful to have to orgasmed, the vibrator, lubricant, and puddle of come all still next to Harry on the bed, because despite the fact that his brain wants to keep him up all night with worrying about the next day—the baby story, Harry’s back, Harry’s inevitable anger at finding out that Louis tricked him into taking stronger medicine—his body wins the battle and he’s able to fall asleep.


	4. We Don't Get To Pick When We're Upset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never taken this long to post an update before. So this is twice as long as my usual chapters, which I hope somewhat makes up for it!

**July 14, 2014 – Los Angeles, California**  
**// _Harry_ //**

Harry wakes up the next morning still in pain, but much at a much more manageable level thanks to Louis’s secret drug cocktail. Which is a good thing for Louis, too, because it means Harry is less likely to be angry with him for his trickery. There is a little bit of the silent treatment and a lot of pouting on Harry’s end as they both get ready for their days, but eventually he gives up and hugs Louis from behind at the sink to say thank you before they go their separate ways.

Louis spends the day working on their next album in the studio, locked away from the Los Angeles sun in a dark room where he can focus on pulling out words from his heart (and fucking around with Liam). Harry spends the day tossing back ibuprofens (which he gets for himself this time) and doing careful, slow yoga stretches on the floor of their living room until he meets up with friends for dinner. He meets a few fans behind the restaurant just to be seen, making sure no one notices his back is bothering him; the last thing he wants is the fans worrying about him when it’s Louis they should be worried about.

He checks his phone all day, but Louis doesn’t call or message him. He supposes it’s for the best that Louis just disconnects today and focuses on something like music, but he himself can’t stop checking the internet. He’s uncharacteristically glued to his Twitter feed, unable to look away as the baby story breaks and everything seems to change. It doesn’t feel real, if he’s honest with himself. A lot of their lives doesn’t feel real, but this especially seems like a bad dream. Like someone had tried to choose the number one thing that would upset their fans the most—and then pinned it all on Louis. It also gives Harry the bizarre urge to hide Louis away in their bedroom for the rest of his life so that no one can hurt him.

By the time he’s getting his Range Rover from the valet at the restaurant and pulling out onto the street, holding a small to-go box of chocolate cake and leaving behind friends who are irritated with him from hardly looking up from his phone during dinner, he’s a mess of nerves. Maybe it’s worse for Louis to get slammed with all of this after staying disconnected rather than having taken it as it came throughout the day. Harry chews on the side of his thumb as he drives, happy to for the automatic transmission that doesn’t require two hands. His phone sits on the passenger seat, but it doesn’t light up.

Liam, Niall, and their whole team had, of course, been briefed about the story and the plan. So had Louis’s entire family, since they would be key players in making it believable down the road. Harry had told his family as well, just to keep them from being blindsided, and he reaches for his phone to call Gemma for some much-needed advice before remembering that it’s the middle of the night in England right now. Frustrated and lonely, Harry’s foot subconsciously presses down harder on the pedal, and he weaves through the thankfully light L.A. traffic toward their house.

Louis’s car is in the garage when Harry pulls in, the space illuminated by a newly replaced light bulb. His back has stiffened up during the drive, so it takes him a few minutes to carefully extract his long legs from underneath the steering wheel and straighten up properly. He’s in desperate need of more medicine—the same combination Louis had given him last night, if he’s honest with himself—but he can’t pass out again, already having visions of Louis waking up in the middle of the night with panic attacks and Harry dead to the world from Percocet next to him. Ibuprofen will just have to do, even if they have a concert tomorrow.

After he walks all the way around the car to get the chocolate cake off the passenger seat, since it hurts too much to reach over to get it, Harry unlocks the door and lets himself inside. He sees see his hand trembling, but he’s admittedly nervous as all hell at what he’s going to find.

Heading into the kitchen, Harry’s surprised to see Louis simply standing at the island, eating pizza from an open box and flipping through a notebook. “Oh, good,” Louis says with a full mouth when he spots Harry. He swallows before continuing. “What do you think sounds better? ‘It’s alright, calling out for somebody to hold _to_ night,’ or, ‘Somebody to hold _at_ night?’”

Harry’s eyes widen as he settles onto one of the bar stools at the island, putting the to-go box and his keys down in front of him. “Um, ‘tonight,’ I think,” he says after careful thought, trying to hold back his shock at Louis’s calm demeanor. “It’s more… right now. More intense.”

Louis hums thoughtfully, holding half a slice of pizza between his teeth while picking up a pen and scribbling something down in the notebook. When he just keeps eating and staring at the handwritten words, Harry clears his throat.

“Brought you home some cake,” he says, nudging the box across the counter.

“Sick, thanks babe.” Louis grins, immediately dropping his crust and popping the top off the black plastic to-go box. He swipes his finger in the chocolate icing and sucks it off, still staring down at the notebook.

Harry feels like there’s the world’s biggest elephant in the room, and it’s sitting on his chest. He had expected to find Louis in a much different state, one that involved a lot more yelling and crying, and this relaxed, thoughtful Louis is really throwing him. He can’t help but wonder if it’s a sort of calm before the storm.

“What are you working on?” he asks, just to keep the conversation going.

“New song,” Louis replies, like that isn’t obvious. His tone is playful, though, like he wants to keep the details a secret from Harry. “The one I started way back with Liam and Jamie. Just finishing it up now.”

“It’s about holding someone at night?” Harry smiles a little, since he’s quite certain he’s the only person Louis holds at night, and vice versa. He shifts a little on the stool as his back twinges, a reminder that he’d been meaning to take ibuprofen.

Louis notices immediately, his tone changing. “Haz, if it hurts, you need to take more medicine. The good stuff. We have a show tomorrow.” He walks over to the freezer, digging out the soft ice pack. “I know you hate how it makes you feel, but the doctors are gonna make you feel worse if you can’t get on stage.”

Harry purses his lips and looks up at the ceiling in annoyance, because he knows Louis’s right, but Louis also knows that _Harry_ knows all of this. And it’s not what they should be talking about right now anyway, but Harry can’t bring himself to mention the suddenly taboo subject of the baby story.

Louis wraps the ice pack up in a paper towel and comes around behind Harry. He lifts up his shirt and gently presses the pack against his lower back, holding it there for him while the cold seeps through. Harry shivers, goose bumps breaking out across his skin, and Louis leans in to kiss his shoulder. “Can I get it for you?” he offers.

Harry hesitates. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” he mumbles, not wanting to have to explain why.

He feels a rush of air against the back of his neck as Louis sighs. “Babe, please don’t do this,” Louis says. “Don’t be a martyr. Take the damn medicine.”

Harry feels a flash of anger, hot in his stomach. He’s not doing this for himself; he’s doing it for _Louis_. “It’s going to make me fall asleep,” he says as an excuse.

“So what? It’s late anyway.”

Harry’s frustration grows, and he wishes he could turn around to face Louis, but the boy is still holding the ice pack against his skin. “I want to be awake for you,” he finally blurts out.

“For me? I’m going to go to bed soon, too,” Louis says, the confusion evident in his voice.

“But what if you… you know…” Harry chews his lip, trying to crane his neck to see Louis but too stiff to do so. “Wake up?”

Realizing what Harry’s trying to do, Louis sticks the ice pack in the waistband of Harry’s jeans and comes around to stand beside him. Harry spins the barstool so they’re facing each other.

“What are you on about?” Louis demands. “What do you mean, ‘if I wake up?’”

Harry’s dumbstruck, his mouth falling open a bit. Beating around the bush is useless, as Louis seems absolutely determined not to admit there’s anything wrong, but bringing up the situation makes Harry feel like he’s forcing Louis into an anxiety attack. “Can I have piece of pizza?” he asks stupidly instead.

“Harry, what the fuck!” Louis cries, staring down at him. Harry cringes at the volume.

“Well, if I take that stuff on an empty stomach it’ll make me sick! And I hardly ate a thing at dinner because I was worried about _you_!”

“Why would you be worried about me?” Louis demands.

“You can’t be serious!” Harry stands up in anger, the ice pack falling to the floor, but the sudden motion causes pain to burst up his spine and down his legs. His arms shoot out to grip Louis’s shoulders, face twisted in discomfort.

Louis’s smaller body immediately stiffens as he takes Harry’s weight, hands wrapping around Harry’s waist to steady him. “Easy, babe,” he murmurs, voice hoarse from shouting. His thumbs rub soothing circles into Harry’s ribs. “You’re alright.”

“Why aren’t you upset about the baby story?” Harry finally asks, his throat tight.

Louis sighs, and they just stand there in the middle of the kitchen, holding each other like they’re slow dancing. The sudden silence makes his ears ring after their brief yelling match.

“I feel like… I feel so out of control,” Harry continues in that same small voice. “And I feel like I-I don’t know how to help you. Because you seem so… fine. And you’re the one who has the right to be upset, not me.”

“It’s not about who ‘has the right,’ we don’t get to pick when we’re upset,” Louis murmurs, raising a hand to thumb over Harry’s trembling lower lip.

“When did you get so logical,” Harry teases, nipping at Louis’s finger and laughing through the tears he’s holding back. It helps ease the tension, and Louis smiles before cupping Harry’s cheek and standing on tiptoe to kiss him.

“I _am_ upset,” he confesses as he lowers back down. When he’s confident that Harry is steady, he bends over to retrieve the fallen ice pack and reaches around Harry’s waist to hold it against his lower back again. He looks up at Harry through his eyelashes as he continues. “But I think it’s better if I—if I just keep going, you know? Compartmentalize and all that.”

Harry nods stiffly, reaching behind himself to take the ice pack from Louis and easing back down onto the barstool. He’s silent for a few moments, just staring down at the pattern in the stone countertop before he asks, “Want to split that cake?”

Louis seems happy for the change in subject. “Yeah, sure.” He grabs the box and a fork from the drawer before sitting down on the stool beside Harry. He scoops out a piece and cups a hand under the fork to catch crumbs before carefully raising it up to Harry’s mouth.

Harry’s eyes widen in surprise, but he opens his mouth to accept the forkful of cake. It’s big piece, and the rich chocolate frosting smears over his upper lip when he closes his mouth around it. Before he can thumb it away, though, Louis leans in and kitten licks it off with a giggle.

Harry smiles as he swallows, putting the ice pack on the counter so he can take the fork from Louis to return the favor. He lifts an equally large piece up to Louis’s lips and makes sure to feed it to him as messily as he can. Louis makes a noise of protest, laughing around the mouthful of cake, and when he swallows and tries to lick his own mouth clean, Harry threads a hand in his hair at the back of his head and pulls his head in to lick it clean himself.

Louis scrunches up his face cutely as Harry’s tongue runs over his upper lip, but he doesn’t try and pull away. “Eww,” he laughs.

“You started it!” Harry reminds him, giving him one more wet lick at the corner of his mouth before releasing his head.

Louis sticks a finger in the box, coating it in the dark red raspberry sauce pooled at the bottom, and swipes it over the tip of Harry’s nose. Harry lets out an indignant squawk, going cross-eyed trying to look at the new mess before Louis sticks out his tongue and licks that off too.

“ _Eww_ ,” Harry parrots, cheeks turning pink with laughter. He wrinkles his nose. “It’s sticky now!”

“So’s my mouth,” Louis shoots back playfully, grabbing the fork again. Harry stiffens, anticipating another messy bite, but Louis just feeds himself a scoop of mostly frosting. He hums after he swallows, going back in for more, dipping it in the raspberry sauce. “This is really fucking good frosting.”

“Glad you like it,” Harry says, taking advantage of Louis’s distracted state to reach over the counter without straining his back and quietly drag Louis’s notebook over. He only manages to read one lyric—“Baby we could be enough”—before Louis’s yanking the notebook out of his hands with raspberry-coated fingers.

“He-e-ey!” he shouts around another mouthful of frosting, hugging the notebook to his chest as he swallows. “You can’t see that yet!”

“I’m going to see it when I’m singing it!” Harry grins, picking up the fallen fork to try some of the frosting for himself before it’s all gone. As Louis goes to close the notebook and put it out of reach, his phone starts vibrating loudly against the countertop.

He glances down at the screen, frowning at a series of text messages from a number he hasn’t seen in a long time.

_We need to talk_

_I saw the news_

_Please Louis I want to be involved_

_I’m not a part of your life but I want to be a part of this baby’s_

_You can’t shut me out of this_

_Please call_

_Please_

“Fuck,” Louis mutters, waiting to see if anymore messages come through, but the screen goes black. His hand trembles a little as he reaches to take the fork back.

“What’s wrong?” Harry immediately asks, letting Louis take the fork. “Who was it?”

Louis drags the fork through what’s left of the raspberry sauce, but he doesn’t eat any. The tines scrape over the bottom of the plastic container. He’s quiet for a moment. “I forgot to tell Troy about… all this.”

Harry feels his stomach tie up into an elaborate knot. Louis almost never mentions his birth father, and when he does, it’s usually not good. “Can you tell him it’s not real?” Harry asks softly, trying to wrap his head around what Troy’s involvement will mean.

“I don’t know,” Louis confesses. He leans his elbows on the counter and wrings his hands together. “I don’t trust him to keep with the story.”

Harry runs his hand up Louis’s spine, rubbing the tension between his shoulder blades. “You don’t have to answer him now,” he reasons, keeping his voice low. “Wait until tomorrow. We’ll figure it out.”

Louis shakes his head jerkily. “There’s nothing to figure out,” he says. “I can’t tell him it’s a fake story and risk him ruining the whole thing. He’s not going to understand it.”

“Okay,” Harry says only so Louis knows he supports him. He wonders what Troy’s reaction will be when he inevitably does find out there is no baby, but they’ll just have to cross that bridge when they come to it. “Maybe there’s something we can get him to sign, or—”

“He’s not going to care about breaking some agreement either,” Louis interjects, startling Harry. He suddenly slams his fist down on the counter, the sound echoing through the kitchen. “Fuck! I can’t _believe_ I didn’t think of this.”

Eyes wide, Harry stands up off the stool slowly, letting his back adjust but never dropping his hand from Louis’s spine. “It’s going to be okay,” he says for lack of anything else to say.

Louis just shakes his head in disbelief, his face gaunt and expressionless. Harry can feel the boy’s body gently shaking, so he wraps his arms around him from behind to try and calm him down. “It’ll be okay, love,” Harry murmurs, nuzzling his face into Louis’s shoulder. “He’s not going to ruin anything. He just…thinks he’s going to be a grandfather.”

“He’s not even a _father_ ,” Louis spits, stiffening in Harry’s hold.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Harry offers.

Louis immediately shakes his head. “He doesn’t get the pleasure.”

Harry huffs out a small laugh against Louis’s shoulder, tightening his arms around Louis’s waist. “Forget him, let me do it for _you_.”

But Louis shakes his head again. “I’ll handle it.”

Harry tugs Louis’s shirt from the bottom so the neckline dips down, revealing an expanse of warm skin that he runs his lips over. “I love you. We’ll get through this.”

Louis nods a little stiffly, but he lets out a soft sigh when Harry’s lips move up his neck and suck behind his ear. “Love you, too.”

Harry slips a hand under the front of Louis’s shirt, flattening his palm over the boy’s soft stomach and stroking up and down. Louis finally straightens up fully and leans back against Harry’s chest, letting himself enjoy the attention. His head drops back onto Harry’s shoulder, his face still twisted up with stress but the tension slowly easing out of his body.

Harry turns his head so he can kiss Louis’s temple, sliding his hand further up underneath Louis’s shirt to brush the pad of his thumb over his nipple. It makes Louis immediately shiver, pressing harder against Harry’s body as his toes dig into the kitchen floor. Harry does it a few more times, just to feel Louis’s reaction, hoping it’s taking his mind off things and helping him calm down.

“Let’s go to bed,” Louis whispers.

Harry gives him another kiss on the temple. “Okay.”

They move apart, Louis walking around the island to close up the pizza box and stick it in the fridge while Harry puts the nearly empty cake box in the trash and the fork in the dishwasher. They both grab their phones, Louis shooting Harry a glare while he picks up his notebook and hugs it to his chest before leading the way upstairs. Harry laughs and trails after him, quickly grabbing ibuprofen as well as both prescription bottles of medicine for his back just in case he decides to take them after all.

Harry lets Louis wash up in the bathroom first while he perches on the edge of the bed and scrolls through his emails, texts, and Twitter. Everything online is just as chaotic and confusing as it had been at dinner, with angry fans and bizarre news headlines and a lot of unpleasant opinions that Harry wishes he could prevent Louis from seeing forever. Maybe Louis’s choice to try and just go on as normal really _is_ the wisest.

Louis comes out of the bathroom in only a pair of briefs and a sheer black vest, the hem of which skims over his bare thighs. Harry blinks rapidly, his breath catching, drinking in the sight as the light from the bathroom illuminates Louis from behind in an almost ethereal way.

Swallowing, Harry stands up, fumbling for his phone when it slides off his lap onto the floor. “Um, all set in there then?” he asks, straightening up and tossing the phone onto the bedside table.

Louis gives him a smirk that can only be described as playful, peering over at Harry from under his soft fringe. “Not going to finish what you started?”

Harry frowns. “What I started?”

“In the kitchen…?” Louis continues coyly, crossing his legs at the ankle and clasping his hands in front of him.

Harry catches on. “Oh,” he says, a bit surprised. “I, uh, didn’t realize you—”

“Please,” Louis adds.

“Babe,” Harry starts, his tone making Louis immediately frown. “I’m not sure how much I can do with my back like this. We have a show tomorrow.”

Louis’s frown deepens until it’s a full-on pout. He uncrosses his ankles and Harry’s surprised he doesn’t stomp his feet. “Please?”

“I can’t fuck you,” Harry clarifies, not even sure if that’s what Louis wants. Except, despite the fact that he’d been falling into a drug-induced stupor, he still has a crystal clear mental image of Louis whimpering into a pillow, fucking himself with a vibrator last night; maybe assuming Louis wants to be fucked is a safe assumption.

Louis’s face falls, and this time he does stomp his foot. “For fuck’s sake,” he snaps, scowling as he stalks over to the opposite side of the bed from where Harry’s standing and rips back the duvet. Harry’s never seen anyone make climbing into bed look so dramatic.

Sighing, Harry goes into the bathroom to wash up himself. He takes his time going through his whole skincare routine, even slathering some lotion on his arms and legs just to give Louis a few extra minutes to calm down before Harry joins him in bed. After brushing his teeth, he fills a glass with water and shuts off the bathroom light before joining Louis in bed wearing only a pair of boxer shorts.

Swallowing down three ibuprofen pills despite his better judgment, Harry slides underneath the duvet, snuggling into the cool sheets and thankful for his own mattress. Louis’s lying on his side, facing away from him, but Harry wiggles over anyway so at least they’re lying close to each other.

 

**// _Louis_ //**

It doesn’t take Harry too long to shut his mind off and fall asleep, but for Louis, thoughts about his birth father won’t go away so easily. He feels bad tossing and turning when Harry’s asleep, not to mention he’s afraid of jostling him and hurting his back, but as the minutes drag on, he finds it increasingly hard to stay still. He feels like there’s no way to win in this situation. Telling Troy the truth gives him the power to blow the entire story, which is terrifying. Not telling him the truth means dealing with Troy wanting to be an involved grandfather, which Louis finds positively laughable. Not telling him anything at all seems the most tempting, but what if Troy runs to the media to try and get Louis’s attention like he did when Louis’s fame had first peaked?  
Each possibility sounds worse than the last. He’s got that horrible itch under his skin that only anxiety brings him, making him want to shed it like snake to find relief. His heart rate isn’t out of control but it’s fast enough to be uncomfortable, and suddenly it feels way too hot to be underneath the duvet.

He kicks it away from his body, which causes Harry to wake up next to him. “Hm?” he mumbles sleepily, rubbing his knuckles over his eyes. “You alright?”

“No,” Louis moans, his voice high. His tone makes Harry sit up in bed. “Will you _please_ help me?”

Harry tries to stifle a yawn. “With what, Lou?”

“Help me _sleep_ ,” Louis begs. “Please, Hazza? I need you.”

Understanding dawns on Harry’s tired face, and he nods his head. “Okay, okay, baby,” he assures him. “Come on, we’re going in the guest room.”

Harry yawns once more, but he untangles himself from the bedding and starts walking around the room to gather supplies. “Meet me in there,” he tells Louis, and Louis feels the boy’s eyes on his backside as he traipses out of the master bedroom.

There’s an uncomfortable ball of guilt knotting up low in his stomach, and he’s not sure if it’s from waking Harry up in the middle of the night, asking Harry to help him in this way when the boy’s got a sore back, or dragging Harry through his whole baby story at all—whatever it is, it’s Harry-related.

They have a few guest bedrooms, but Louis knows which one Harry wants him in. Since he’d gotten the upholstered headboard for their master bed, limiting their bondage opportunities in that room, Harry had appeased Louis by buying a wrought iron four-poster bedframe for one of the other beds. It was enormous and beautiful, dark metal taking up nearly the entire room and giving them limitless options for tying each other up; unintentionally it had become a sort of playroom. Louis lets himself in there, turning on the lights and cracking open a window to freshen the air before sitting on the edge of the bed. He drags his toes through the thick carpeting while he waits for Harry to help him feel better.

It doesn’t take Harry long to join him, still dressed in only his boxers and holding a few things that he places on the elaborately mirrored bedside table. Louis doesn’t get a chance to see what they are, because Harry steps in front of him and places the gentlest of kisses to the corner of his mouth. Louis parts his lips, looking for more, but Harry looks down at him with his brows drawn together.

“You’re sure?” he demands.

Louis nods without hesitation. “Yes,” he whispers, his mouth dry. Swallowing, he adds, “Please.”

Harry hadn’t been willing to do this last night when Louis needed it—well, he’d tried in the end, but Louis’s secret drug cocktail had sort of ruined it—and Louis almost can’t believe his luck that it’s happening now. Harry reaches for a length of soft, thin rope and unwinds it.

“Give me your wrists,” he says, and Louis immediately presents them.

Harry takes his time, winding the rope around Louis’s left wrist, tying it properly, and then leaving a length between them before tying it around the right one. Louis watches, feeling waves of heat run through his body, concentrated between his legs.

“Up, come on,” Harry instructs, helping Louis get to his feet. When Louis stands, Harry leads him to one of the bottom corners of the bed. “Tiptoes.”

Louis frowns, but he gets up on his tiptoes like he does in photos to seem taller. Harry takes the middle of the length of the rope tying Louis’s wrists together and lifts it up, stretching Louis’s arms toward the ceiling. Louis lets out a soft grunt as his shoulders strain, looking up to see Harry hooking the rope over the top corner of the four-poster bed. It slips over the decorative knob and drops a few inches, catching on the horizontal bars at the top of the bed and effectively securing Louis in a standing position with his arms over his head. Louis tugs experimentally, glad to have his feet pretty much still flat on the floor but his body stretched taut.

“Okay?” Harry asks, and Louis nods.

He’s half-hard already, a noticeable bulge in the front of his briefs that Harry palms over appreciatively. Louis lets out a breathy groan, fidgeting in his bonds as Harry’s hands move up, tracing his stomach over the material of his vest. When his fingers reach Louis’s nipples, just barely visible through the sheer material, he pinches them tightly between his thumbs and forefingers.

Louis’s breath gets stuck in his throat, jolts of pleasurable pain shooting through his body from the point of contact. He watches Harry’s face, exhaustion etched in the boy’s features even as they’re serious with concentration. Louis’s fears his guilt might kill his erection, but Harry’s pinching fingers won’t let it.

“Fuck,” Louis hisses as Harry digs his thumbnails in, making Louis’s torso involuntary twist. He doesn’t have far to go, though, with the way he’s tied, and Harry just smirks.

“I can see how much you like it,” Harry reminds him, his voice a little rougher with sleepiness. He leans in closer to Louis, lifting a leg just slightly and slotting it between Louis’s thighs to rub against his rapidly hardening cock. His fingers don’t stop pinching and pulling Louis’s tiny nipples, making them red and swollen underneath his vest.

Louis squirms, torn between wanting to get away from Harry’s fingers and wanting to rub himself off on Harry’s thigh between his legs. Eventually, Harry grows impatient with not having direct access to Louis’s skin, and he grabs the vest by the bottom and rips it up over his head. It has no where to go, since Louis’s arms are bound, so Harry has to settle with tangling it up around Louis’s elbows and tucking it behind his head.

“So,” Harry says, resuming his pinching of one of Louis’s nipples and slipping his other hand into Louis’s briefs. Louis shudders as Harry’s fingers squeeze along the hard line of his shaft. “I’m going to let you choose.”

Louis opens his mouth, but it’s hard to get any words out when Harry cups his palm around the tip of his dick. Louis mewls as Harry twists slow circles there, still tugging at his tortured nipple. “Ch-choose?” he manages to choke out.

“Mhm.” Harry nods, putting both of his hands into Louis’s briefs now to roll and squeeze his balls while stroking him. Louis’s head drops back from its cage between his upper arms, knocking against the bedpost he’s bound to. “Two options.”

Louis doesn’t speak, figuring Harry will eventually tell him what these two options are. He’s rock hard in Harry’s grip now, drooling precome into the front of his briefs as Harry squeezes up and down his length while simultaneously playing with his balls. It feels amazing, making the muscles in his thighs and abs tremble. When one of Harry’s fingers slips backward and runs dryly over his hole, he can’t help but let out a small shout.

“Shh, easy, baby,” Harry soothes. “Going to make you feel good, promise.” His finger keeps stroking there, feeling Louis’s ring of muscle clench repeatedly beneath the pad of his index.

Louis heartbeat pounds in his own ears, every fiber of his being attuned to Harry’s masterful hands. His eyelids feel heavy, and he lets them flutter closed as Harry quickens his pace and strokes him faster, harder.

“Oh,” Louis gasps, getting up on tiptoe again as tremors run gently through his body. Harry stops playing with his hole to wrap a hand around his balls again, tugging them away from his body as he quickly jerks Louis off. “Har—Harry, I’m—fuck,” Louis stammers.

“Here are your choices,” Harry tells him, keeping him right at the edge of orgasm with both hands. Louis struggles to listen, Harry’s word just barely penetrating his haze of pleasure. “You can come now… or you can come later.” He pauses, Louis’s ragged breathing and Harry’s slick strokes the only sounds in the room. “But if you come now, you come three times.”

Louis’s eyes snap open, searching Harry’s face for any hint of bluffing. So those are his choices—edging, or multiple orgasms. Harry’s watching him very seriously, and Louis realizes he’s supposed to make the decision _now_.

While the memory of the first time Harry had dominated him and edged him is pretty distant, the memory of Harry making him come three times after Zayn left is still quite fresh. Fresh enough that Louis can remember how the third orgasm had felt more like an exorcism than anything else, and he’s not sure he can handle that right now. Edging will be sweet torture, too, but at least he knows he’ll get one single great orgasm out if in the end.

“Later,” he says, despite how close he already is to coming. He sucks in a sharp breath when Harry’s strokes abruptly stop. “Later, I’ll come later.”

Harry smiles, ducking his head in to kiss him as a reward for deciding. Louis’s hands twitch where they’re bound above his head with the urge to tangle in Harry’s curls, messy from his brief sleep. He sucks on the boy’s tongue and wrestles it with his own, trying to make the kiss last.

“Later it is, then,” Harry whispers with his lips only a millimeter away from Louis’s, brushing softly against them with each word. His hand moves back down to squeeze Louis over his briefs, the precome staining the fabric in dark spots. “Are you gonna be good? Going to wait until I let you come?”

Louis quickly nods, staring into Harry’s eyes so very close to his own as he lets out a soft moan. He realizes, as Harry keeps stroking him and torturing him by rubbing the cotton over his sensitive cockhead, that Harry must’ve tied him this way so he would be able to whatever he needs to do without hurting his back. Louis’s a little hazy with pleasure, but he’s still impressed with Harry’s genius.

Finally, when Louis’s sure there must be some chafing happening down there, Harry stops and pulls his briefs down. Instead of just leaving them around Louis’s ankles, though, he taps his legs. “Lift up,” he instructs.

Louis lifts one leg, then the other so Harry can remove the underwear. Before he realizes what’s happening, Harry’s straightening up and shoving the balled up fabric into Louis’s mouth.

“Can you taste yourself?” Harry asks, voice low and absolutely filthy. Louis’s head spins with the sound of it, the salty tang of his own precome seeping from the underwear and onto his tongue. He nods his head with a miserable little moan.

Harry smiles, looking very pleased with himself, and he circles Louis’s shaft with his hand. “Go on, baby,” he encourages, squeezing around him just tightly enough. “Fuck my fist, go on.”

Louis hesitates a second before starting to slowly move his hips, staring down at where Harry’s big hand covers most of his cock. The tip disappears and reappears from the circle of Harry’s thumb and forefinger, bright pink where the foreskin pulls back. Louis gasps through his nose at how good it feels, picking up speed until he’s properly fucking Harry’s fist just the way he would pound him in bed.

“That’s it, love, so good,” Harry murmurs, watching Louis very carefully to make sure he doesn’t get too close. Sweat starts to prickle along Louis’s hairline and gather over his collarbone and shoulders, soft grunts muffled into the fabric in his mouth. He grinds his teeth down on it as heat begins to grow low in his belly again, the knowledge that Harry isn’t going to let him come making his hips stutter.

Just as he starts foolishly thinking that maybe he’ll be able to do it, maybe he’ll be able to bring himself off right now despite Harry’s plan, he feels Harry’s fingers start to steadily loosen. A funny noise comes out of him, high in his throat and purely miserable as the tightness disappears, taking with it the friction that had brought him so close to tipping over the edge. He stops thrusting his hips, embarrassment and frustration coloring his cheeks.

“Aw, don’t be upset,” Harry teases, patting his hip in mock apology. Louis avoids his eye, staring down at his flushed cock instead where it stands straight out from his body.

Harry moves away from him, leaving Louis standing alone while he goes to grab some things from the bedside table and drag over a small wooden chair that had long ago found its way into this room for kinky purposes. Louis considers spitting the underwear out of his mouth, but he really doesn’t want to do anything that will make Harry mad and prolong this edging experience.

Harry places the chair in front of Louis and sits down on the edge of it, smoothing his palms over the silky expanse of Louis’s thighs and feeling the downy hair there between his fingers. “Spread a little,” he says, drumming his fingertips in the crease to make his point.

Louis shuffles his feet a few inches apart, just enough to give Harry the access he wants without increasing the strain on his shoulders too much. Harry smiles up at him before opening a bottle of lube to slick up two of his fingers. Anticipation makes Louis’s body tense up, but he forces himself to take a few deep, steady breaths and let his muscles relax.

Harry’s fingers slip between his legs to find his hole, circling it to spread the lubricant around. His other hand holds onto Louis’s hip to keep him steady, looking up into Louis’s eyes from where he’s sitting as his index finger sinks inside him.

Louis groans, holding Harry’s eye contact as he feels the single finger work up inside him and then slide back out. Harry only fucks him with it a few times before he adds the second, making Louis reflexively spread his legs a little farther apart to ease the stretching sensation.

“Feel good?” Harry asks, screwing his fingers up into Louis’s body until the boy’s standing on tiptoes. Louis quickly nods, whining into the underwear still gagging his mouth. Harry gives him a crooked smile, curling his fingers and trying to find Louis’s spot as this new angle.

Louis lets out another embarrassing noise when Harry hits his prostate, making more precome bead at his slit. Moving very carefully so as not to strain his back, Harry leans forward in the chair to lick it off. Without thinking, Louis immediately thrusts his hips forward, smearing his wet cock across Harry’s lip where it skids across his cheek.

Harry’s smile vanishes, his mouth set in a hard line as he lets go of Louis’s hip to wipe his face off with the back of his hand. “Not smart, Lou,” he admonishes, thrusting his fingers in a little deeper and starting to rub ruthless circles into his spot.

Louis gasps so hard through his nose that he almost chokes on the air, his toes digging into the carpet as pleasure so sharp it almost hurts shoots through his body. His thighs start to tremble and twitch, a bead of sweat running down his temple as Harry’s fingers torture him from the inside out.

Harry’s other hand suddenly reaches up to tug the underwear out of Louis’s mouth, and he drops the spit-soaked ball of fabric onto the floor. Louis licks his dry lips and swallows, only managing to whisper a tiny, “Fuck.”

“You want to come?” Harry asks, cocking his head cutely as he makes a loose circle with two fingers and slides it over Louis’s cock. Louis trembles, Harry’s hands starting to find a rhythm of stroking him and fucking him at the same time. His heavy amount of precome slicks Harry’s one hand as much as the bottle of lubricant had slicked the other.

“Oh god,” Louis chokes out, his stomach muscles clenching and unclenching with every stroke. “Please, please Harry… M’close…”

“Are you?” Harry stops stroking Louis’s cock to instead squeeze it at the base, leaning his head in again to lick at the purpling head. He sucks it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around Louis’s most sensitive spots while continuing to finger-fuck him, holding off his orgasm with a tight grip at the root of his shaft.

Louis’s head goes completely blank, the room spinning around him until he slams his eyes closed. He can only distantly hear the desperate, pained noises coming out of his own mouth over the sound of blood rushing in his ears; he’s somewhat amazed that there’s blood anywhere else in his body other than his dick.

Harry’s smirking around his cock as he sucks him, slowly moving his lips up and down the half of Louis’s shaft that’s not covered by his hand. When Louis starts subconsciously stomping his feet, panting through his gritted teeth and making Harry fear being kicked, he finally pulls off.

“Jesus fuck,” Louis cries, clenching around Harry’s fingers like he’d actually managed to orgasm. Hot tears of frustration build up in his eyes, but he quickly blinks them away.

Harry still has that playful smirk on his face as he withdraws his fingers from Louis’s body, leaving a lingering soreness behind from his roughness. Louis sags in his bonds, feeling the burn in his wrists but it doesn’t compare to the fire raging between his legs in his alarmingly heavy-feeling erection. He distantly watches Harry as he picks up an egg-shaped vibrator and coats it in shiny lubricant.

“Easy,” Harry reminds him as he lines the plastic piece up at his hole. Louis doesn’t even have the energy to tense his muscles and stays perfectly pliant as Harry pushes the egg past his rim, using his fingers to sink it deep inside him. Only the long wire sticks out from between his legs, leading to a small remote.

“Ready?” Harry asks, and then laughs at his own question. Louis just manages to shoot him a glare before Harry hits a button on the remote and the vibrating egg buzzes to life inside him.

“Holy hell,” Louis grunts, twisting around and struggling against the ropes holding him, trying to figure out any way to get the toy out of his body. It’s nestled up right against his prostate, vibrating hard against it and causing even more precome to drool from his slit. “Harry!”

“Shh.” Harry gives his hip a few soothing rubs before wrapping his hand around Louis’s cock again. Louis wastes no time in fucking his hips forward, chasing the friction in the tight circle of Harry’s fist.

“Don’t move,” Louis begs, surprised to hear how weak and desperate his voice sounds. “Please… please…” He rocks his hips forward and back, amazed at how good it feels every time he thrusts and it causes him to clench around the egg. He can feel sweat dripping down his back, goose bumps breaking out over his skin. His cock is so dark and flushed against the whiteness of Harry’s hand, his cross tattoo glistening with lubricant or precome, Louis’s not sure.

Suddenly, Harry’s hand is gone.

“No!” Louis screams, his hips continuing to move, fucking his cock into the air. He had been so close, _so fucking close._

Harry gives him a pitying look, glancing at the remote control in his other hand and moving his thumb over the buttons. The egg starts to vibrate even harder, and Louis’s knees shake.

“Harry, _please_ ,” Louis sobs, and this time he can’t stop the hot tears from wetting his cheeks.

Harry’s pitying look turns into a pitying smile, and he nods, giving Louis his fist to thrust into again, figuring it’ll feel better to Louis if he’s able to make himself come since going over the edge is going to be undoubtedly a bit painful after all this time. Louis’s hands twist up in the ropes binding them, his hips bucking wildly into Harry’s hand.

His entire body tenses up, every muscle in sharp relief and coated in a sheen of sweat, all movements stopping after only a few thrusts. His balls tighten, a cry stuck in his throat as he finally, finally starts to come.

 

**// _Harry_ //**

Harry hadn’t taken the time to think this through and aim Louis’s cock anywhere, so he ends up with most of the come on his own bare chest. It’s a _lot_ of come, streaking across his swallow tattoos and dripping over his hand and onto the floor. Louis body rocks violently with every shot, but he makes no sound.

“There you go,” Harry murmurs calmly, stroking Louis through it since his thrusts have stopped. Louis’s chest is heaving so violently with his breathing that Harry momentarily worries that his ministrations had the opposite effect and he’s sent Louis into a panic attack.

“Thank—thank you,” Louis stammers, his head dropping down onto his chest, his long eyelashes fanning out over his cheeks. Slowly, his muscles start to unclench, his body going limp and held up only by the ropes connected to the bed.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, angel,” Harry says, reaching between Louis’s legs to grab onto the wire and pull the vibrating egg out. The boy’s body is so loose that it comes out easily.

He stands up slowly out of the chair, letting his back get used to the new position before reaching up to try and unhook the rope tying Louis’s wrists from the knob at the top of the bedpost. Louis’s pulling too heavily on it, though, and Harry’s only option is to use the pair of scissors he’d brought out in case of an emergency and cut the ropes off.

Louis crumples forward immediately, his shirt and the ropes dangling from his arms, but even in his boneless state he knows he can’t lean his whole body weight on Harry and risk hurting his back. He manages to straighten up, dropping the shirt and rope fragments onto the floor and rolling his shoulders a little against the soreness trying to settle there. “Bed?” he begs, like Harry would ever say no to that.

Harry nods, reaching to pick up the discarded shirt and using it to wipe the drying come off of both their bodies. He then helps Louis as best he can out into the hall and over to their master bedroom, leaving everything to clean up tomorrow. There’s a cup of water waiting for both of them on either bedside table, and Harry makes Louis drink his in its entirety before allowing him to climb under the covers.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks as Louis melts into the mattress. He’s never seen the boy’s face look so blank, but he’s pretty sure it’s blissful and not void.

“Mm,” Louis mumbles. “Good. Feel good. Just tired.”

Harry smiles, hoping to god that he’s managed to give Louis the good night’s sleep he needs so badly. As he goes to drink his own glass of water, also a little spent from their playtime despite having not come, he glances at the two prescription bottles sitting there. He knows if he wants to be able to perform tomorrow in Seattle without any ‘help’ from doctors, he needs to take those. Now.

“Think you’ll be alright if I take my medicine?” he asks. “...Lou?”

He laughs a little when Louis doesn’t so much as twitch, already fast asleep. Unscrewing the top off one of the bottles and popping the pill onto his tongue, Harry is quite confident that Louis will sleep through the night with no thoughts of babies or birth fathers to interrupt him.


	5. Think You Just Get To Have It?

**July 16, 2015 — Los Angeles, California**  
**// _Harry_ //**

 

Even though it makes more sense to stay up north near the United States/Canada border, Harry and Louis fly back down to Los Angeles immediately following the show in Seattle. They’re just too close to somewhere that feels a little bit like home to want to stay in another strange hotel room; it gives them a day and a half to spend in California before their Vancouver concert, even if it means extra time in planes.

The day starts out with the release of their new perfume, which neither Harry nor Louis gives much of a fuck about—especially when an article comes out saying Troy wants to mend his broken relationship with Louis quickly followed by an article from _Briana’s_ father saying she’s having a hard time with the pregnancy due to stress. Louis decides to put his posse of friends up in a hotel—after making them promise to wear condoms 24/7 regardless of whether or not they have any sex—and spends most of the day watching Netflix in bed with the shades drawn, just wanting to be alone.

Harry doesn’t feel like venturing out to the gym, so he has a trainer who specializes in sports rehab come to the house. The trainer helps him stretch out his back and teaches him new exercises to strengthen it, spending the better part of the morning contorting Harry into positions that make Harry glad Louis is holed away upstairs.

After the trainer leaves, Harry wastes the rest of the day outside by the pool, lazing in the California sunshine that he just can’t get enough of. He’s itching for company in the same way Louis wants none of it, but he’s only got acquaintances in town now that he doesn’t really want to have to entertain. Instead, he deepens his tan and listens through old Spotify playlists Louis’s made for him, trying to resist the urge to read and analyze any of the new articles.

When the sun eventually starts to go down and he’s sick of being alone, he wanders back inside with the hope that maybe the idea of dinner will get Louis out from under the covers. There aren’t a whole lot of ingredients in the house to cook with, but just like with the gym he really doesn’t want to have to leave the house, so he manages to find a mostly-full box of pasta and figures he’ll be able to make do.

As he’s standing in front of the stove, wearing only a small pair of floral swimming trunks and stirring the boiling pasta and Alfredo sauce he’s managed to concoct with a jar of grated parmesan cheese, a frozen stick of butter from the back of the freezer, and Louis’s milk for tea, he hears the soft padding of feet across the kitchen floor. Before he can turn around, a pair of warm arms wraps around his waist from behind.

“What’s this?” Louis asks, burrowing his nose between Harry’s bare shoulder blades.

“Dinner,” Harry replies simply, pleased that his plan worked. Letting the spoon rest against the side of the pot, he rubs Louis’s wrists where they’re sitting on his hips.

“You smell good,” Louis murmurs against his skin. “Like…sun.”

Harry laughs softly, finally turning around and moving a few steps away from the stove, taking Louis with him. He realizes Louis’s wearing only a Harley Davidson t-shirt, black briefs, and white socks, the hem of the big t-shirt just skimming the tops of his naked thighs. “I was in the backyard most of the day,” he explains, running his hands appreciatively down Louis’s sides. “I probably smell like sweat.”

Louis shakes his head, his soft, product-free hair fanning out across his forehead. “You smell good,” he says again, brushing his nose up the side of Harry’s throat and kissing the spot behind his ear.

Harry hums as Louis’s lips make him shiver. “You feeling okay?” he asks, for lack of a better question to ask.

Louis sighs, keeping his head tucked under Harry’s chin to avoid eye contact. “Been better,” he admits.

“You look sexy in my t-shirt,” Harry murmurs. He swears he can feel Louis’s cheek heat up against his collarbone.

“ _My_ t-shirt,” Louis says without much venom, batting away Harry’s curls when they tickle his face.

“You look sexy in the t-shirt you stole from me and claimed as your own,” Harry restates, squeezing Louis’s sides until he giggles. “C’mon, I have to stir the sauce or it’s gonna stick.”

Louis finally parts their bodies, giving Harry room to return to the stove and stir the Alfredo and add in some salt and pepper. Eventually Louis wanders over to the fridge to open up a couple bottles of beer leftover from a party months ago, handing one to Harry.

“My boyfriend, the frat boy,” Louis teases, nodding toward Harry standing at the stove in swimming trunks, a spoon in one hand and a beer in the other. Harry shoots him a glare, but it’s hard to keep the angry expression when Louis just looks so cute and soft in only a t-shirt and socks.

Louis sits down at the kitchen table and plays on his phone while Harry strains the cooked pasta, pours it into two bowls, and covers it in the sauce. He adds a few broccoli florets he’d uncovered in the freezer when searching for butter and then steamed in the microwave before bringing the bowls over to the table.

“You didn’t have to do this, babe,” Louis says as Harry settles down across from him. “Could’ve gotten takeaway.”

“I think the Domino’s delivery guy could find our house blindfolded,” Harry deadpans, picking up his fork and stabbing a piece of broccoli. “Besides, I felt like cooking.”

“Well, thanks, it looks great,” Louis says, and Harry appreciates the effort even though he knows full and well that Louis would prefer pizza over any meal with vegetables. “Did we have all this stuff in the house or did you have to go to the store?”

Harry shakes his head. “Haven’t left the house today,” he confesses. “Had the trainer come over this morning and then just cooked with whatever I could find here.”

Louis’s eyebrows draw together in concern, and Harry stares down at his pasta.

They eat in relative silence, the scraping of their forks on the bowl louder than any small talk they make. Louis dutifully eats his entire meal to make Harry happy, and they both polish off their beers.

“Think I’m gonna go back upstairs,” Louis announces from where he’s been fidgeting in his chair waiting for Harry to finish eating.

Harry tries not to let the disappointment show on his face. “Okay,” he manages. He scrambles to think of something to say that’ll keep Louis with him, but Louis’s already putting his dishes in the sink and making his way to the stairs.

Sighing, Harry stands and picks up his bowl, fork, and empty beer bottle. He puts both his and Louis’s dishes in the dishwasher and throws out the bottles, considering drinking another but thinking better of it when his stomach churns with worry. Feeling like he can’t help Louis has to be the worst feeling in the world.

Even though Louis had thought he smelled good, Harry feels like he smells like sweat and chlorine, so he decides to take a shower for lack of anything else to do. He doesn’t want to bother Louis in their bedroom, but all his toiletries are in the master bathroom, so he knocks softly on their door and lets himself in.

Louis’s lying on his side on top of the covers, still wearing just a t-shirt and socks and holding a pillow to his chest while watching something on his laptop. He barely looks up when Harry comes in and walks across to the room to their bathroom, and it gives Harry a feeling in his gut like he had swallowed a handful of ice.

Not saying anything, Harry closes the bathroom door and locks it, secretly hoping Louis can hear the click of the lock but then immediately feeling disappointed for thinking that. He doesn’t actually want to make Louis upset; he doesn’t need Louis’s negative attention just because it’s attention.

Taking off his swimming trunks, he fills the sink up with water and puts them in to soak. It’s hard to ignore the heavy thumping of his heart behind his ribs as reaches into the shower to turn it on, looking at his reflection in the mirror as he waits for the water to get hot. He examines the small patches of hair on his chin and above his lip, running the pads of his fingers over the stubble and debating over whether to shave it off or not. Maybe Louis would like the scratchy feeling between his thighs. Harry feels a little rush of heat when he thinks about how good Louis’s beard feels on his sensitive skin when he’s eating him out, but it’s quickly distinguished when he thinks about how Louis’s been acting all day.

In the end, he decides to take a razor into the shower with him just in case he wants to shave his face after all. He stands under the hot spray and just lets it hit him in the chest, not making any moves to wash his hair or his body yet. His toes the water gathering between the tiles at his feet, dragging and pushing the rivulets through the lines of grout, wondering what Louis’s thinking about on the other side of the bathroom wall.

He misses him, is the thing. Even though he’s literally _right there_ , right in the bedroom, it feels like he’s a million miles away. It’s not the same sort of separation anxiety Harry had experienced earlier on tour; it’s more of a frustrating helplessness, but the tightness in his chest and uneasiness in his stomach is similar. On top of that, Harry feels so angry when he thinks of Louis’s birth father, who had taken a bad situation and made it a million times worse for Louis, and wishes not for the first time that Louis would just let Harry talk to Troy and try to straighten this all out. But he’s not even one hundred percent confident that would help anything, anyway.

Eventually, even though his arms feel so heavy and tired, he squeezes some shampoo out onto his hands and starts working it into his scalp and hair. It smells good and familiar, the suds dripping down his neck and over his shoulders, getting caught in the sparse hair on his chest and the coarser curls below his bellybutton. As he tips his head back under the water to rinse, he gets an idea.

Picking up the razor he’d been planning to shave his face with his, he removes the plastic cover and experimentally shaves off a tiny patch of maybe three hairs between his pectorals. He glances around the shower nervously like he’s doing something forbidden, like Louis might pop in any second and catch him. It gives him an odd, undeniably enjoyable thrill, which temporarily takes the place of all the bad feelings.

Not wanting to ruin the effect with razor burn, he smooths a handful of conditioner over his entire chest and stomach before continuing. It only takes a few strokes of the razor to completely rid his chest of hair, taking care around his nipples, but the hair down the middle of his stomach takes a little longer. Once that’s all swirled down the drain, he chews on his lip and looks down at his pubic hair.

“Why the hell not,” he mumbles, starting to shave that off, too.

He’s patient, since the hair is longest and thickest there, and he doesn’t want to chance accidentally cutting himself anywhere near his favorite body part. Moving downward, shaving his balls takes a little flexibility, and shaving around his hole takes a _lot_ of flexibility. He’s glad his back feels almost as good as new since the trainer came over that morning. He wishes he had a mirror to check that he got everything, but he can only rely on the feel of the smooth skin underneath his fingers.

Once every single hair from his collarbone down and around to his tailbone is gone, Harry feels strangely excited and a little bit mischievous. It reminds him of the time in Jakarta when he surprised Louis by putting on a pair of women’s underwear; he hopes this sends the older boy the exact same message. Maybe, Harry suddenly thinks, trying not to get his hopes up, getting Louis back into his natural, more dominant role will make _Louis_ feel better; maybe that’s actually more of what Louis needs than being submissive.

His heart beat picks up for an entirely different reason than it had when he first came into the bathroom, and he shuts off the shower and grabs a towel. Once his skin is mostly dry, he works some orange and vanilla-scented lotion into all of his freshly shaved skin, the incredibly smooth feel of it making him start to harden. It doesn’t even really feel like his own body, and he can’t stop touching it. In the mirror, his tattoos look even starker on his hairless chest and stomach, his cock flushing with no dark curls to hide it.

Realizing he’s wasting time he could be spending underneath Louis, Harry forces himself to stop feeling his own skin. He washes his face (which he had forgotten to shave, after everything), and brushes his teeth, assuming he’ll be too tired to do either after Louis’s finished with him. After one last glance in the mirror, he cracks open the bathroom door and peers out into the bedroom.

Louis hasn’t really moved much from his position atop the bed, but he does pick up his head a bit when Harry’s face appears in the doorway. Feeling a little shy all of a sudden, Harry wraps his damp towel around his waist before fully emerging. The chandelier is dimmed so low it’s nearly off, the brightness of Louis’s laptop screen providing most of the light, and Harry’s nervous that Louis won’t even be able to see his missing body hair.

“Hi,” he says, shuffling closer to the bed and the main source of light.

“Hey,” Louis replies with a hint of confusion. He sits up fully, holding the pillow in his lap and tapping the spacebar to pause whatever movie is playing. “You coming to bed?”

Harry doesn’t know how to answer, since technically he _is_ , but not for sleeping, so he just shrugs and crawls onto the mattress. Louis tosses aside the pillow and pushes the laptop farther away as Harry climbs on top of him, letting out a soft grunt when Harry’s weight knocks him back onto his elbows.

“Hey,” he repeats, a little softer this time when Harry tucks his face shyly into his neck. “Alright?”

Harry nods, feeling a little braver with his eyes closed against Louis’s skin. He doesn’t know how to casually get Louis to notice what he’s done, so he blindly rips off his towel and let’s his bare skin rest against Louis’s body.

“What’s gotten into you, hm?” Louis murmurs into his wet hair between kisses. Harry can feel the boy’s fingers trailing down his spine, and he shivers with anticipation as they start to trace his hipbones.

Unable to wait another second, Harry straightens up onto his knees, straddling Louis’s thighs. The glow of the laptop screen illuminates his body from the side in a blue a light, clearly showing off his hairless skin. He lowers his head and bites his lower lip as he watches the realization dawn on Louis’s face, excitement and nervous making his cock half-hard.

Louis stays quiet for a minute, simply reaching out a hand to press his palm to Harry’s lower stomach, his eyes widening at the softness. He trails lower until his fingers skim over the hairless base of Harry’s length, making Harry jump a little.

“Wow,” Louis says for lack of anything better to say.

Harry swallows. “Is it okay?” he asks, the words leaving him in a jumbled rush.

“Yeah, love,” Louis assures him, helping deflate the balloon of nerves that had grown in Harry’s chest cavity. His other hand comes up to join the first, continuing to map out the smooth skin. “I love it. It feels so good.”

Harry can’t contain the enormous smile that splits his face. “I shaved it all,” he says, taking one of Louis’s hands in his own and directing it farther backward between his legs. “Even… here.”

Louis hums appreciatively as he takes over, running his fingers along Harry’s taint and back toward his hole where the skin is just as hairless and soft. Harry tips forward a little at the sensation, resting his head on Louis’s shoulder and whimpering into his ear.

Louis chuckles as he continues to play with Harry’s entrance and the endlessly enticing skin around it, teasing him until he trembles; Harry’s confident his plan is working. “Please,” he adds just in case, nipping at the underside of Louis’s jaw.

One of Louis’s hands in suddenly gone, and before Harry knows what’s happening, he hears a sharp slap and feels a stinging pain on his ass. He jumps in surprise but makes no move to get off Louis’s lap, feeling a rush of heat between his legs as he forces himself to stay perfectly still. Inside, all he can think is, “ _Yes, yes, yes_.”

“What are you begging for, babe?” Louis teases, rubbing and squeezing the skin he had just spanked. “What do you need?”

Hearing the tone in Louis’s voice, feeling him so naturally take control, Harry is fully hard within seconds. He twists his fingers into Louis’s Harley Davidson t-shirt, pressing backward against Louis’s hand with a desperate whine. He lifts his head off Louis’s shoulder so he can look him in the eye, wet curls sticking to the sides of his face.

“God, you look so good,” Louis mutters, taking the hand that’s between Harry’s thighs and lifting it to thumb over the flushed spot on Harry’s cheekbone. “Feel so good. Did this all for me?”

Harry nods eagerly, his excited smile making his dimples cave. The pad of Louis’s thumb dips into one of them, and he pinches Harry’s cheek until he giggles. “Wanted to try something new,” Harry admits, tugging at the hem of Louis’s shirt.

“Are you sure your back doesn’t hurt?” Louis asks, suddenly serious. He still looks tired, with purple shadows under his eyes and overgrown stubble darkening his jawline, but he seems willing enough to play along with Harry now that they’ve started. When Harry nods again immediately, he lets him grab hold of his shirt and tug it over his head. However, he stops him when he goes for his briefs.

“You think you just… get it?” Louis asks, the seriousness of his tone making Harry’s head snap up. “Think you just get to have it? Don’t have to work for it?”

Harry immediately moves his hands away, settling them nervously on top of his own thighs for lack of a better place to put them. He shakes his head, sitting back on Louis’s knees and awaiting instruction, trying to behave.

Without dislodging Harry, Louis reaches over to the bedside table and slides open the drawer, blindly digging for a pair of handcuffs. Harry fidgets a little in anticipation, feeling his pulse clearly in his cock as Louis sits up straight with Harry in his lap and reaches around behind him. Harry obediently holds his wrists at the small of his back so Louis can cuff them there, shivering at the cold metal against his skin.

“Okay,” Louis says, feigning disinterest as he leans back against a pillow. He nods towards his briefs. “Go on then.”

Harry only hesitates a second before he shimmies further back on Louis’s legs and bends down, using his stomach muscles to hover over Louis’s thighs. He noses against the boy’s length through his underwear, pleased to feel it already quite hard. He gives the head a kiss before taking the waistband in his teeth, slowly trying to tug it down.

Louis lifts his hips just enough so that Harry can successfully drag the briefs down to his thighs. Harry has to let go to bite the other side and repeat the action to get them all the way down, but eventually Louis’s cock and balls are completely free. Harry’s abdominal muscles are starting to protest his position, so he has to lay himself out along Louis’s legs, flattening his own erection against Louis’s shin.

He wastes no time in getting his mouth on Louis’s length, wetting it with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth. It grows quickly as he works, reaching its full size and stretching Harry’s lips wide. He’s so blissfully happy and unaware that he doesn’t even realize how close to orgasm he’s bringing Louis until Louis’s ripping him away by the hair.

“Shit,” Louis pants, and Harry can’t help but smile when he sees how he’s made Louis’s cheeks pinked and his pupils dilate. Louis quickly works to take back the upper hand though, looking down at Harry and shaking his head. “Thought you wanted to get fucked, hm? Don’t you want to get fucked? Almost ruined that for yourself, didn’t you.”

Harry’s face pales, his smile disappearing, panicked at the fact that he’d almost made Louis come in two minutes and destroyed his chances of getting the domination he craves. He gives Louis’s shaft an apologetic kiss.

“Sit up,” Louis instructs, and Harry scrambles to get up into a sitting position without the use of his hands. His cock is so hard, standing straight out from his body and bumping into Louis’s. He resists the urge to rock his hips and find some friction, wanting to be a good boy and not piss off Louis.

Louis grabs the bottle of lube from the bedside table and pops the top, squeezing some out onto the head of his dick and slicking it down his shaft with his other hand. Harry just watches with wide, hungry eyes. When Louis wraps a hand around the base of his own length and holds it steady, Harry realizes he’s supposed to be doing something.

“Can I?” he asks, scared to move without permission. Louis rolls his eyes but nods, making Harry blush.

He shuffles forward on his knees, spreading them wide on either side of Louis’s hips so his ass is hovering over Louis’s upright cock. He can feel the head brush over his taint, and he rolls his hips a bit, gasping as it catches on his hole. The shaved skin is so, so smooth that Louis’s velvety head feels like sin against it; Harry thinks he could come just from this.

Louis laughs at him, and Harry’s blush deepens. “Is that enough for you?” Louis teases. “Don’t even need me to fuck you anymore?”

“No,” Harry pleads, shaking his head and sending his damp curls flying. He tries to get Louis’s cock lined up with his hole so he can sink down, but Louis keeps moving it forward and back until Harry’s thighs are burning with the effort. “Louis, please!”

“Shh, alright, alright. I’ll give you what you want,” Louis finally says, and Harry finds himself holding his breath as Louis stops teasing and steadies his cock.

The second Harry feels their bodies align, he starts to lower himself down despite his shaking quads. He doesn’t breathe as Louis’s slick cockhead breaches his hole, the first thing to stretch Harry open in he doesn’t even know how long. It hurts but he doesn’t care, glad Louis didn’t finger him open first, happy to take his girth like this—like he’s earning it.

“Fuck, yes,” Louis mumbles, letting go of the base of his cock once Harry’s nearly entirely seated on him. He grips Harry’s hips instead, grinding up to fully sheath himself inside Harry’s body. “So tight. Feel good? Gonna ride me, babe?”

Harry nods, finally taking a full breath when he’s able to take some of the strain off his thighs. He swirls his hips as he tries to adjust to Louis’s size, clenching and unclenching his inner muscles experimentally. As he grows more comfortable, he starts to slowly lift himself up a bit with every forward roll of his hips, watching Louis’s abs tighten beneath him in response.

It takes him a little while to find his balance with his arms cuffed behind him, even with Louis’s steadying fingers digging into his lower back, but eventually he’s able to move himself half way up and down Louis’s length with confidence. It feels incredible as the pain ebbs away, and it feels even better when Louis uses one hand to grab holding of his leaking erection and slowly stroke it.

“God,” Harry chokes out, his entire body trembling as they both pick up speed. His thighs are screaming at him to stop, but he keeps going, hypnotized by the feeling of being the one on top but completely under Louis’s control.

Eventually, he can’t keep it up anymore, his thighs giving out on him and leaving him completely seated on Louis’s lap. Louis wastes no time, taking hold of Harry’s hips against and pistoning his hips up, fucking him so hard that he’s bouncing on top of him.

“Was this what you wanted?” Louis asks through gritted teeth, keeping Harry still as he continues to fuck up into his willing body. “Was this what you were hoping would happen when you shaved yourself all smooth for me?”

Harry nods and moans in response, his head lolling back on his neck as his cock slaps up and down against his own stomach from the power of Louis’s thrusts. He doesn’t realize yet again how close to orgasm Louis is until suddenly the boy’s body stops moving beneath him, his every muscle tightening as he slams Harry down on him completely and starts to come.

Harry doesn’t move as Louis rides out his pleasure, feeling the bite of Louis’s nails in the skin over his hipbones. In his hazy mind, he distantly hopes they leave a mark. When Louis eventually comes down from his high, his breathing slowing down and his eyes opening, he wastes no time in sitting up and knocking Harry sideways onto the bed, parting their bodies.

“Been so good for me,” Louis praises as he arranges Harry’s pliant body the way he wants him, face and knees in the mattress with his ass up high. “Made me come so hard, now it’s your turn.”

Harry gasps when two of Louis’s fingers press past his sore entrance, sliding in easily with the leftover lube and come. Louis moves them around, searching for Harry’s spot as he reaches underneath him and grabs hold of his cock with his other hand. Harry nearly screams it feels so good, biting down on the duvet underneath his head to quiet his sounds.

“Feel that? Feel how wet you are inside?” Louis asks, the dirty words making Harry lightheaded as Louis starts fingering him harder. The slickness makes soft clicking noises with every thrust. “Like my come inside you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry moans around the mouthful of fabric.

Louis lets go of his cock briefly to give him a quick spank before resuming his task, using both hands to keep Harry just on the edge of coming—and madness.

Soon, Harry can’t take it anymore. His entire body is shining with sweat, the freshly shaved spots prickling uncomfortably, and he feels like his own breath is too hot to breathe. “Please,” he starts to beg, spitting out the part of the duvet he’d been chewing on. “Please, please can I come, please, m’so close…”

Louis hums thoughtfully, his hands slowing their stroking and thrusting just in case Harry is getting _too_ close. “Hm, I dunno,” he says, curling his fingers inside Harry and watching his spine immediately arch even more. Harry feels a tiny twinge of pain at the stretch, but he’s too far gone to worry about his back now.

“Please!” Harry nearly shouts, feeling his face heat up even more.

“You made me wait quite some time to come the other night, didn’t you?” Louis wonders aloud, and Harry lets out a sob when he realizes what Louis means. He’s already been fucked; he’s not sure he can handle being edged.

“I was good,” he insists. “I-I was good…”

Louis pauses like he’s mulling it over, rubbing his fingers over Harry’s inner walls and twisting his hand around his dripping cock. “You _were_ good, yeah,” he finally agrees. “Rode me like a good boy, made me come. Think that means you deserve to come too?”

“Yes!” Harry gasps, his entire body shuddering as Louis’s hands pick up speed again. His wrists strain against the cuffs and his eyes slam shut as he feels his orgasm build up once more, so close to tipping over the edge.

“Okay, babe, go ahead,” Louis whispers. “Come for me.”

That’s all Harry needs to completely let go, his thoughts whiting out, his toes curling in the sheets. He comes in pulses all over the duvet and Louis’s hand, his sore hole clenching hard around Louis’s fingers where they’re still buried inside him. Louis milks him through it until he’s shuddering with sensitivity.

Harry collapses onto his side, panting, his hair stuck to his sweaty face. He can distantly feel Louis unlocking the handcuffs and bringing his arms around to rest in front of him, rubbing the red rings around his wrists.

“So good,” Louis murmurs, kissing some of the deeper marks there. “Did you like that?”

Harry immediately nods, forcing his eyes open a crack to look up at Louis’s face. “Did _you_ like that?” he asks, his voice a little hoarse.

Louis hesitates, but then he nods too. “A lot,” he admits, making Harry smile.

“Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow,” Harry says around a yawn, his head too scrambled to makes head or tails out of what had just happened. “I can’t think straight. You fingered me with your own come.”

Louis barks out a laugh, throwing himself down next to Harry and snuggling up close. Their bodies are sweaty and their skin sticks to each other, but they’re both too spent to care. Louis tucks his head in Harry’s armpit and strokes up and down his stomach. “Your skin feels amazing,” he whispers.

“Thanks,” Harry says with a little blush. “It’s going to itch like hell soon.”

“Well, I do like your hair,” Louis replies, wanting Harry to know it’s okay either way. “But this was a fun change.”

The conversation dies off as they both fall into a comfortable state, not quite asleep and not quite awake, curled around each other on top of the duvet as the air conditioning dries the sweat on their skin. Everything can be talked out on the flight to Vancouver tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> The tumblr post for this story is [here](http://ropewithnoanchor.tumblr.com/post/130268319916/set-it-all-on-fire-by-ropewithnoanchor-when-louis) if you'd like to reblog or follow :)


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